Red Capes: Saviors
by Stormkrigeren
Summary: To be perfectly honest, she had no idea what the hell she was doing. Dragging a hopelessly defenseless farmboy along with her hadn't been part of the plan, but without him she never would have discovered what she was truly capable of. They had been sent to Earth for a purpose: he was born to protect the world - she was born to protect him. A Clois fic following Brightest Silence.
1. Sepia, Wood, and Laughter

\- UPDATE 09/15/2020: Good morning, everyone! Instead of uploading another chapter to this fic as I do every 1st and 16th of the month, I am announcing that I have officially published Brightest Silence - A Prequel! It can be found on my profile or works page, and even though it only has one chapter at the moment, I hope to upload a new chapter to it **once a week** for the rest of the year. Unfortunately, that means that Red Capes: Saviors (this fic) will have to go on a **_temporary_** hiatus while I focus on Brightest Silence, but _I will be uploading chapters to Saviors before the end of 2020_. This hiatus will be 2-3 months long unless something really serious comes up in my personal life, but the moment Brightest Silence is complete, I am resuming work on this fic.

To tide you over in the meantime, I have made some _major_ updates on the Red Capes: Saviors as it is:

The first one I have made is that the first 15 chapters of this fic's original version (most readers who saw it before this update will recognize those chapters as the ones that talked about Darcie's backstory and Rooms) have been removed completely, and after being revamped they will be part of Brightest Silence!

The other update to this fic is that chapters 1 through 19 (before the update, they would have been chapters 16-29)(yes, I added a few) have been revamped as well, and as promised, Lois' investigation finally does some justice to her title of Senior Investigative Reporter!

Please enjoy, comment, and kudos! I love reading them!

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Author's Note: To capture Darcie's hypersensitivity to being out in the wide world for the first time, each chapter title includes a color seen, something felt, and something heard.

This fic takes place after the events of Brightest Silence. Though the prequel does clarify quite a bit of this fic, it isn't absolutely necessary that you read it to fully understand this story.

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**Chapter 1: Sepia, Wood, and Laughter**

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Loud.

Very loud.

It wasn't anything she couldn't deal with, and not nearly as bad as some of the sensory training she had gone through only a few months before. But everything seems louder when one was stressed or tired, and after two weeks of sleepless nights hitch-hiking, trespassing, stowing away, walking, running, and simply _surviving_ as best she could, Stormkrigeren felt she was at least entitled to a bit of peace.

Maybe a pub had been the wrong choice for a hiding place.

It was loud and crowded, the building packed with hot bodies and reeking of stale beer and sweat, but that would make it all the harder for someone to find her there. Not that extreme caution was her first priority anymore - yesterday she had finally managed to shake her hunters off her trail, hopefully for good, and could let her guard down just the smallest amount. Thus the beer on the counter in front of her - though it didn't seem to do much to drown out the noise.

Stormkrigeren closed her eyes tightly and tried to block it all out - men's voices, glasses clinking, guitar playing, and a radio blaring in the background - every sound rushing into her ears and clamoring for her attention. The forecaster on the little box was predicting more cold and possibly snow, though all she could hear was the constant squealing of what she assumed to be the radio waves. If that was even possible.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she opened her eyes again and focused, glaring down at her beer on the shiny wooden bar in concentration. The pub was in the middle of nowhere, and the sheer remoteness made her chest clench uncomfortably. Being alone was nothing new, but being _lonely_ was. She felt exposed and unprotected - like everyone was looking at her and waiting to pounce. No one was really, and even if some dude was eyeing her, Stormkrigeren knew she could floor him easily.

She adjusted her trucker cap to brush a strand of dark hair behind her ear and took a sip from her beer, the intense nutty flavor and bubbling sensation stronger than she was used to. Her eyes scrunched closed again as she fought the urge to scream - she knew she shouldn't have chosen a place so full of people, but as stupid as it seemed, her hunters were less likely to look for her here.

Various conversations filled the room, oblivious to the pain they were causing her as she struggled to keep her senses under control. Focus was the key, narrowing what one saw and heard down to a single conversation or person and block out everything else, so Stormkrigeren focused on two lieutenants of the Canadian Armed Forces having dinner a few seats down the bar, naturally drawn to those who shared the same tactical instincts as her.

"-been a change in the plans," one was saying, popping a french fry in his mouth, oblivious to the eavesdropper. "Somebody found something strange up on Ellesmere. AIRCOM's been making runs out there all week."

His friend snorted in disbelief. "That rat hole? You gotta be kidding me."

"I know! Crazy, right? And the Americans are there too - _lots_ of them. They're calling it an 'anomalous object', whatever that means."

"Man, that's weird. Wonder what it is. Though it's probably just some-"

Stormkrigeren did not hear what he said next as her focus was suddenly broken by a brief shriek as a waitress shouted on the far side of the room, causing her to wince at the loud voice. "Ludlow! Let me go!"

"C'mon, Chrissy, sit down!" a rough-looking diner was saying sweetly, trying to calm her down and coax her into the seat beside him - though Stormkrigeren saw him pat her rear as she tried to turn away and immediately decided she disliked the man. The waitress was clearly in distress as Ludlow continued to harass her despite Chrissy's protests, and Stormkrigeren was on the verge of going over to tell him off when someone else intervened.

"Hey, leave her alone," one of Chrissy's coworkers said, a dark-haired waiter who had been quietly clearing a nearby table when the commotion started, but Ludlow ignored him until the man put a hand on the trucker's shoulder.

That caught his attention and Ludlow eyed the waiter furiously, dropping his grip on Chrissy in favor of shoving back his chair as he stood up and threw off his hat, breaking something. The sound of glass shattering brought all conversations in the room to halt as everyone turned to look at the two men staring each other down. Ludlow smiled confidently at the younger man, sizing him up.

"Or what, tough guy?" he asked, goading the waiter despite the fact that the trucker was clearly the smaller of the two. Stormkrigeren saw Chrissy standing nervously off to the side, desperately hoping a fight wouldn't break out.

To her relief, her coworker calmly refused to take the trucker's bait and replied evenly, "Or I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Ludlow just sneered at him, an ugly grin forming at the corners of his rough stubble. "I've been coming here for over fifteen years, busboy. I think I'll leave when I'm good and ready."

He threw a punch at the young waiter - strong enough to have at least knocked a few teeth out, but it never reached its mark. Stormkrigeren held Ludlow's closed fist in her hand, glaring back at the man with a slight frown.

"I apologize for interrupting," she spoke up politely in a thick French-Canadian accent, "but physical assault is illegal in most places - you could be arrested for starting a fight."

The roughneck grunted, trying to pull his hand out of her grasp and failed. "Damn you, let go, freak!"

"Miss?" the busboy said, trying to draw her attention, but Stormkrigeren ignored him and focused her restrained wrath on the struggling Ludlow. Diners were chuckling at the nearby tables, hoping a fight would ensue between the humiliated waiter and the trucker over the rogue gal. Stormkrigeren winced at their raucous mirth and unintentionally squeezed Ludlow's fist harder, causing him to yelp in pain and let out a string of foul words which earned a few cheers from the coarser customers.

"Thump 'm, girlie!" someone shouted, banging on their table. Ludlow was still trying to pull away while the busboy attempted to calm her down and convince her to release the injured trucker. The world seemed to grow louder, the diners' chuckles becoming high-pitched shrieks of laughter, every breath and heartbeat roaring in her ears as she fought to find something to focus on. They were all clawing at her, fighting for her attention so they could drag her down and break her all over again, catch her and take her back to the Rooms. Ludlow's harsh shout joined the clamor as Stormkrigeren felt his ring finger snap beneath her grip, and despite her best efforts, she did the worst thing she could have possibly done.

She panicked.

Her teacher had drilled that single, essential rule into her head nearly every day of her life, and she had tried so hard to follow it. Never panic, do not allow yourself to panic, do not allow yourself to be afraid. She had only broken the rule a few times, but it only had to happen once for her to become painfully familiar with the feeling of dread as it washed over her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, her heart clenched in her throat, and her ears ringing with every sound in the world. All she wanted to do was escape and find somewhere quiet where she could be alone... but they wouldn't let her go, grasping at her mind, never letting her escape-

"Focus, damnit," she whispered to herself, scrunching her eyes closed and fighting to keep herself grounded to her own low voice. "You're too loud, keep it quiet, keep it focused-"

"Miss?"

One voice, softer and quieter and gentler than all the laughing shrieks roaring in her ears, reached out through the throng and touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes to look up at him beside her and saw the blue-eyed waiter - his hair was in need of a good brush and maybe a shave, but his sad smile was beautiful all the same.

"It's quieter outside," he murmured, yet she could hear him clearly above the din, and somehow his soft voice captured her focus enough for her to finally pull herself together, shutting everything else out but his words and her rage at the trucker beneath her fist.

Stormkrigeren took a deep breath to calm her nerves and turned back to Ludlow, twisting his wrist violently as she shoved him up against the back wall. Suppressing the urge to give him a good kick in the balls, she bared her teeth and growled. "If I hear you've been bothering her again, you can _guarantee_ I will be back for your hide! Got that?"

Despite the fear in his eyes, he had the audacity to grin back sweetly at her. "Whatever you say, doll. We can even discuss it at my place if you like."

The occupants of the pub roared with laughter at his smart comeback as she thrust him away in disgust, returning to the bar and sliding a few crumpled bills over the counter to the bartender to pay for her drink. He accepted them with a scowl which Stormkrigeren ignored as she headed for the door, pulling her cap down tighter on her head. A few whoops of 'Get outta here!', and 'You showed 'm!' rang out behind her, and were immediately silenced as she grabbed a beer can off a nearby table, tossing it in the air followed by a roundhouse kick that sent it straight across the room into the wall beside Ludlow's head. No one spoke when it didn't fall, partially embedded in the wood, and the rogue left without a backward glance.

The pub resumed its usual chatter as the dark-haired waiter approached the can, observing it curiously and found that the force of the young woman's kick had nearly driven it through the wood into the insulation while the aluminum had barely been crushed. Ludlow had mostly recovered from his ordeal, already boasting that he had been in complete control the entire time and could have escaped if he'd wanted to - though he was still cradling his bad hand.

"She was just roaring for a fight, but my momma taught me to never hit a lady and I'm a good son, so I kept my hands to myself," he explained to the chuckling guitarist. "Though that girl was a bit of a bad bitch. Would've been plenty fun to have done her in."

The busboy frowned - she had only been standing up for another person and didn't deserve that sort of degradation - if anything, she was to be admired for her courage. Part of him wanted to hit the man, his fists curling at his sides and a fiery glint burning in his eyes as he took a step towards him before catching himself. Fighting wouldn't help anything, so it was with great reluctance that he forced himself to back down, but not before shooting a burning glare in the trucker's direction

Ludlow only let out a harsh laugh at the sight and shouted back to the barman, "Hey, Weaver! I think your busboy's about to go postal over his girlfriend!"

Weaver shrugged from behind his bar and kept wiping glasses, mentally weighing the value of his too-polite busboy against a steady customer.

"You're fired, kid," he said casually, not even bothering to look up. The trucker grinned at the ex-waiter, hands in his filthy pockets, and shrugged.

"Pity. Now _get out!_"


	2. Gunmetal, Leather, and an Engine

**Chapter 2: Gunmetal, Leather, and an Engine**

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He shrugged the heavy coat over his broad shoulders and hefted the duffel bag onto his back, trying to ignore the guffaws that followed him out of the pub. The early autumn sun had set nearly two hours earlier, leaving the gravel parking lot only lit by a few outdoor lights. Walking past a log truck parked awkwardly near the porch, he noted it was most likely Ludlow's and paused briefly to consider committing an act of vandalism when he heard the light clink of metal against metal. Someone grunted softly nearby before quickly going silent, and a moment later he realized the sound had come from beneath the truck.

Walking around to the other side of the vehicle, he glimpsed a pair of worn hiking boots beneath the hood, barely visible in the near-darkness except to his keen eyes, and he coughed politely to catch her attention. The perpetrator tensed as he warily stepped closer, about to kneel down to look underneath the truck when she suddenly slid out from beneath faster than he could react and he suddenly found himself shoved up against the door of the vehicle with her hand at his throat.

"Hey-mmph!" He tried to protest, but she had her hand over his mouth, silencing him as she wiped her other oil-stained hand on his clean shirt.

"I'm sorry about your shirt, but this way you can't tell the police without being accused of helping me," she muttered in a low voice. "Now what do you want? And how did you do that?"

She released him and stepped back to give him some space while he caught his breath, looking her over and instantly recognizing the young woman who only a few minutes ago had left the pub in a huff. She was probably in her early twenties, her thin long-sleeve tee barely hiding the outline of her well-muscled form and her black ponytail tucked through the hole in her trucker cap with piercing blue eyes below.

He had to admit, she was right about the shirt - if he told anyone that a young woman had been messing with Ludlow's truck, it was likely that he would be seen as her accomplice with all the black grease on him.

"Do what?" he asked, referring to her question after having caught his breath, and she shrugged.

"You were whispering in there - less than whispering - and I could hear you clearly. Are you a ventriloquist?"

He shook his head, crouching down to look under the truck where he had found her, secretly wondering how much damage she had already done. "Not exactly. I have pretty good hearing though, and I'm guessing you do too if you could hear me through all that noise."

The young woman only nodded in reply as she got down beneath the truck again. The ex-waiter was pretty well-built, but her instincts told her he was a non-threat and didn't warrant too much caution on her part - and even if he did try to run or attack her, Stormkrigeren already knew he would be easy prey.

Deciding he wasn't worth worrying about, she ignored him and pulled a dark silver spike of some sort out from where it hung beneath her shirt. Untying the shoelace it was attached to from around her neck, she wedged the sharp end of it into a screw head and continued working in the darkness beneath the rig, ignoring the ex-busboy's surprised look as he watched her.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, pointing at the spike.

She bit her bottom lip and continued to work at the screw before replying, "My mother gave it to me. She said it was mine."

"Can I see it?"

The young woman gave him a sidelong look and grunted as the screw finally popped out, falling into the gravel beside her shoulder. Scooting out from underneath the vehicle, she reluctantly handed the spike up to him and he observed it carefully, holding it up so it caught the light from the pub, shining with a dull glint. After a moment, he fingered a piece of leather tied around his neck and pulled a similar spike out from beneath his shirt, comparing the two.

He felt the young woman stand up beside him, tending when she caught sight of the two nearly identical shards.

"I don't think I caught your name, sir," she spoke up after a moment.

"I'm Clark," he answered with a grin, turning to shake her hand, and noted that she had a strong grip. She hesitantly returned the smile as she pulled her back, almost a little reluctant to make physical contact but accepting it nonetheless.

"...Darcie. A pleasure to meet you."

"You too," he answered, and returned her spike, watching as she replaced it around her neck.

"So… do you know what it is?" he asked. Darcie shrugged, pulling some bent hairpins out of her pocket and climbing up to turn her attention to the truck door.

"Only that my mom gave it to me, it's mine, and that it's composed of an atypical alloy with unidentifiable component elements. Do you know?"

The question made him pause, wondering how she would react to the answer. She didn't seem to notice his hesitance, concentrating on picking the lock on the door, and Clark rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to figure out how he - a complete stranger to this young woman - could explain its origins without her thinking he was a lunatic. But if a drunk trucker hellbent on giving her crap didn't faze her, what he had to say wouldn't scare her too bad. He hoped.

"Well," he began, "I don't really know how to explain this, but these things aren't from Earth."

Darcie, to his surprise, was completely unperturbed by the relegation and simply nodded without looking away from what she was doing. "Meteorite. That makes sense. But how were they passed on to us?"

"Um, they're not made from meteorite either." Clark said slowly, "These shards weren't made on this planet. And I don't think we're from here either."

Her skilled fingers froze over the keyhole, and something clicked inside the door as she turned to glance down at him. "Have you been drinking?"

He shook his head 'no' and she shrugged, opening the door she'd just unlocked and rolled back the filthy carpeting.

"Have you ever - I dunno, seen or felt or heard something _different_? Not like a bad 'different', but maybe you lifted something you shouldn't have been able to, or seen or heard things far away other people couldn't?" he asked, struggling to explain himself, "I know it's a lot to take in, but right now it's the only clear answer I can find for all these… differences. I'm not drunk, it's-"

"I apologize for interrupting, but I know you're not drunk. And you can stop talking now - I believe you."

Clark looked up at her in surprise, having expected a completely different reaction.

"What do you mean?" he asked and Darcie rocked back on her heels, balanced on the doorframe with her elbows on her knees as she looked down at him.

"It makes sense, that's what I mean. And if what you're saying is true, then we're both-"

She stopped mid-sentence as if some realization had just hit her like a freight train, and suddenly grabbed the shard around her neck as she twisted around to look over the hood of the log truck at the lit up pub.

"Shit," she murmured.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she ducked down under the steering wheel of the logging truck, shaking her head as she yanked some wires up from beneath the driver's bench and stripped the ends with her teeth.

"Can you drive?" she interrogated firmly, not waiting for an answer as she twisted two of the wires together.

"Yeah, why?"

The logging truck's grimy headlights lit up and Darcie hopped out beside him, wiping perspiration from her forehead despite the chill night air and hurriedly grabbing a navy backpack that had been hidden in the rig's wheelwell. "Great, get in the truck. We need to go."

"Wait, are you stealing his truck?!" Clark exclaimed in surprise only to be quickly silenced with an irritated growl from Darcie. Damnit, she never should have intervened inside that pub - she could have been miles away by now, far out of reach of her hunters. But then again, if she hadn't stepped in, she never would have gotten to speak to the now ex-busboy and confirm her growing suspicions. Darcie had known for years now that something was ever-so-slightly different about her, and now here was someone who could possibly have the answers to her questions - if she could ensure that he lived long enough to do so.

"Just get in the truck," she sighed, hoping she wouldn't have to pull a nerve strike on him - he looked heavy, and Darcie wasn't in the mood to be lugging an unconscious weight around. "Listen, Clark, you seem like a nice person, but you're going to have to believe me just like I believed you a minute ago: either you get in the goddamned rig, or you're going to have a lot bigger of a problem than the police. And that problem won't be with just me."

Something in her desperate tone must have gotten through to him, because Clark paused and turned back to her, having backed a few feet away as if afraid of simply touching the rig would get him arrested. His gaze flickered between her and the truck for a few moments, mentally weighing his trust in this strange young woman and the undeniable link they shared against his urge to stay off of any government radars. Finally, Clark made up his mind - he would go, but only because he suddenly couldn't imagine any other logical course of action. Darcie, even if neither of them quite understood it yet, was a very large piece of the puzzle he had been trying to solve ever since he had known that the spike around his neck was not from this planet, and there was no way he was going to lose that so soon after meeting her.

Shoving any lingering reluctance aside, Clark climbed up into the driver's seat without a word, and put the rig into gear as Darcie slid into the bench beside him with her backpack in tow.

"Where to?" he sighed, turning to exit the parking lot.

"It doesn't matter. Just keep driving - and don't stop!"

She didn't give him a chance to protest as Darcie was already rolling down her window in favor of leaning out to watch the parking lot and raucous pub recede behind them, nervously drumming her fingers on the door and her sharp eyes scanning every shadow where the streetlamps didn't shine. Clark did his best to ignore her and focus on at least following the local road laws (not that it mattered much when he was driving a stolen vehicle hauling logs that by no means belonged to either of them), but he couldn't ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that Darcie fully expected to be followed.

Getting out of the small town and onto the highway was simple enough, but she still didn't relax, leaning out the window to check behind them every few minutes. Only when Clark had been driving for nearly twenty minutes did she finally roll the window back up and sit quietly in her seat. The rig was silent for a while after that - except for the rumble of the tires on asphalt and the hum of a broken heater.

"My apologies for getting you dragged into this," she spoke up suddenly, "There are probably going to be people looking for you now that we have been seen together."

Clark frowned, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Police officers, most likely. This is illegal - we're criminals now! And how the hell did you know how to hotwire a truck?!"

She resisted the urge to flinch and shrink into the corner of her seat at his raised voice, instead focusing on staring straight ahead at the asphalt as it passed beneath them. "No, no police officers. Just… someone is looking for me."

Clark only snorted disbelievingly in response, and Darcie hugged her arms over her chest, struggling to calm the wave of adrenaline that washed over at the sound - one she had long ago learned meant that she was about to earn a blow. To her surprise though, Clark kept his fists firmly on the wheel and gearstick, barely even glancing in her direction as he focused on trying to make out the road in the light of the dirty headlights, but his silence didn't do much for her nerves.

Clark was busy with thoughts of his own, the most prominent one being how idiotically reckless the entire situation was. He had met this young woman barely an hour ago in the midst of a brewing pub brawl, had barely exchanged more than a few words and basic pleasantries with her (he didn't even know her last name!), then promptly decided to become her accomplice in larceny and car theft. The only semblance of a link he had to her was their unusually keen hearing and strength, and the fact that they both had extraterrestrial shards of mysterious metal, but strangely enough, Clark found he didn't regret his decision to get in the truck at all - in fact, he couldn't help but be a little excited by the idea of finally being on the move again, searching for the answer to his origins with someone who was asking the same question.

What an eventful night this had turned out to be.


	3. Charcoal, Bark, and Wheels on Asphalt

A bit of a longer chapter here, but a nice one.

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**Chapter 3: Charcoal, Bark, and Wheels on Asphalt**

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It started raining lightly at some point, the droplets pattering on the windscreen only to be wiped away moments later. There were very few cars on the highway this late, especially farther away from the big cities, and the two passengers watched each headlight that passed them by the tired interest without speaking up to break the near-silence.

There wasn't much to say - scratch that, there were a million questions swirling around in Clark's head, he just wasn't sure how to ask them. He glanced in Darcie's direction occasionally, still a bit wary of her, but also deeply concerned about the way she kept rubbing the back of her neck like it was sore, and her right leg continued to bounce nervously with no sign of stopping soon. It was more than a little odd to see such signs of anxiety in someone who only an hour before had been on the verge of starting a pub brawl, and was now almost trembling with tension in the passenger seat of a stolen logging truck.

It crossed Clark's mind that there was probably something seriously wrong with the young woman beside him, and he considered turning her in at the nearest police station. But if he was perfectly honest with himself, he had almost been the same way growing up - a nervous, lonely kid with barely any certainty to cling to. They were more similar than he would have originally imagined.

Clark made up his mind, going against the little law-abiding good-citizen voice in his head, and decided that he would wait a bit longer before deciding to turn Darcie in. Besides, the fact that she had a shard just like his gave them a connection he needed to figure out, and curiosity over her cryptic words about being hunted was beginning to get the better of him.

It was a little past nine - around the usual time that he would have taken a break to eat dinner, but tonight was anything if a bit unusual. Chrissy had been the one serving her at the pub, but Clark remembered hearing Darcie only order a beer. And if she was anything like him, she'd be ravenous.

"Are you hungry, Darcie?" he asked, keeping his voice soft in hopes that it might calm her down a little. A shadow of a flinch crossed her face when he said her name before she quickly shook her head 'no', but at least stopped clenching her fists, so that was a start.

She inwardly cursed and swore at herself for being such a bloody fucking idiot to hand him that name like it was on a goddamned silver platter. It wasn't _her_ name, it was _his_ name for _her_, and she fucking hated it. Fuck, she could just about hear Lex's voice in her head, chanting the nickname over and over again: _Darcie, Dee-Dee, hold still little Dee, just hold still_-

"Darcie? You alright?" Clark's voice cut through her thoughts and pulled her back to cold reality. She blinked, Lex's leering grin replaced by Clark's concerned look and gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly to get her attention.

Darcie tensed immediately at his touch, her entire body clenching in fear - touching was bad, touching was very very bad, touching hurt, and she was not allowed to pull away or push him off because resisting was bad, sit still and don't resist, don't resist even if it hurt-

It didn't hurt.

It didn't hurt when Clark touched her. The hand on her shoulder was gentle and light, putting barely any pressure or grip on her - just enough that she was aware of it, but nothing more. His touch was warm and didn't make her skin and was almost… comforting, in a way. Just like when he said her name. Every time he spoke to her, Clark looked her in the eyes, made her feel like she was an important part of the conversation and he actually cared about her reply. He said her name, slowly, carefully, almost as if he liked it and it was a good name, not one to be ashamed of. Strangely enough, Darcie found she didn't really mind the way he said her name, and some small part of her wanted to hear him say it again - before she realized that he was still watching her worriedly, not having got an answer.

"I'm fine," she managed to reply finally, still a little wary of the hand on her shoulder. Clark gave her one last searching look, concern still showing clearly in his bright blue eyes, but he nodded and took his hand away in favor of adjusting his heater vent.

The heater turned out to be not so broken after all, and the windows began to fog up from the heat warming the small space. Though neither of them really felt the rising temperature, it wasn't long before Clark removed his heavy winter coat. Darcie wasn't wearing one, but instead simply rolled up her sleeves, and out of the corner of his eye he caught an alarming glimpse of heavily scarred arms before she quickly covered them again. A few of the cuts looked like they went quite deep, and they seemed too random to be self-harm…

Someone else had done this to her.

Someone she was running from.

Clark suddenly felt very protective of his passenger, despite her 'kidnapping' him (if guilt-tripping him into helping her steal a truck could be considered kidnapping) - in a twisted sort of way, she might have been protecting him when she could have simply run, now that he thought about it. By the way she was acting, simply talking to her for an extended period of time was enough to put him on her stalker's map, but she had stopped and tried to warn him of the danger despite the danger to herself. It was a bit convoluted, but it seemed to be the only thing that really made sense about the young woman sitting next to him.

"You never answered my question about where you learned to hotwire a car," he said in a friendly manner, trying to start a conversation off of one of the few things he'd managed to learn about her. She gave him an odd look, probably having expected another rebuke for having pulled him into her escape, or maybe some other question better suited to small talk, but she answered all the same.

"Delaware - it was part of a course I took on automobile engineering," she said slowly, not especially in the mood to talk or give too much information about herself. Clark saw her rubbing her arms self-consciously and racked his brains for something nice to say about the state. He'd never been there, but he knew that it was pretty flat and had lots of strawberries - a lot like Kansas actually, if Kansas had a coastline.

"So did you grow up there? Did you go to the beach a lot?" he asked. Darcie shook her head, another wince briefly crossing her features at the question.

"Yes, I grew up near the coast there. I was very active but didn't get out to the water all that much… not at all, really-"

She stopped, realizing how much she'd revealed about herself, and quickly tried to steer the conversation towards him. "And you? You have a Southern-Midwestern accent - are you from Missouri? Iowa?"

"Close," he smiled, "I grew up in Kansas."

"I hear there is a lot of corn there," she commented innocently, and Clark laughed out loud at the simple statement.

"You heard right. My house was surrounded by acres of corn, as far as the eye could see - until I was nine and could see all the way to Kansas City," he replied, remembering the first time he discovered that he could see much farther than anyone he knew, "It was always a pretty sight. I'd get up before the sun rose to go milk the cows, and by the time I finished it'd just be peeking over the horizon, painting all the bright green stalks a rosy pink and orange, and when they're grown the tassels would whisper in the breeze. My mom said they were repeating what their ears could hear, so I always said nice things around them."

He could see it all again - him and his dog running through washing as it dried on the line, a blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape as a little Clark in his bare feet jumped over an overturned wheelbarrow while his Dad worked on the old pickup. It had been such a long time ago, he rarely thought of it now but often wished that he could somehow go back to those simpler times.

"That sounds beautiful," Darcie spoke up, bringing him back to the cold logging truck on the midnight highway, raindrops pelting the windshield as he drove and the childhood dream faded, leaving him a little sadder than before.

"Why did you leave? Were you forced to?"

"What? No, I wasn't forced to. I… I don't know why I left," Clark answered after a moment's hesitation, "I guess I'm just trying to find where I belong."

Something in his words seemed to click with her, and Darcie nodded slowly in agreement. "I think that's what I'm trying to do too."

Once again they fell back into companionable silence, neither trying to continue the conversation. All seemed quiet besides the soothing rumble of the engine and heater, but both of them could hear far beyond the rig's confined cabin into the dark trees that lined the highway.

Darcie kept her gaze firmly on the window and rear-view mirror, listening and wincing occasionally when the sound of a cracking branch or owl's screech from the forest caught her by surprise. The look in her stormy blue eyes reflecting off the glass was one of courage under duress, but Clark could see it was only hiding the lost and lonely feeling beneath. He knew the feeling all too well - because he felt exactly the same.

Clark kept his hands firmly on the wheel, resisting the urge to reach out and hold her hand, to give her some small semblance of comfort that he (though he would never admit it, not even to himself) was so desperately looking for, to let her know that it was going to be alright (maybe). Wandering on one's own with no real goal or destination in mind was difficult - both mentally and physically. Any sort of stability was rare and the comforts of home were almost nonexistent, finding and maintaining an income were a constant struggle, and long-lasting relationships hard to come by. Clark hazarded a guess that being hunted probably made everything all the more difficult.

One of the hardships of the wandering life was making itself known by the hunger gnawing in his gut, but he had spent more than a few nights with an empty stomach and shoved the discomfort aside, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good to dwell on it.

Darcie, however, must have been thinking the same thing and spoke up. "We should get rid of the truck before finding a place to eat and sleep."

"So we're together now?" Clark teased, and she spun around quickly to face him, clearly caught off guard by the idea.

"No, that's- that's not what I meant. I just thought it'd be safer and more efficient if we traveled as a pair..."

Darcie trailed off, obviously embarrassed and internally swearing at herself. She was an idiot for having thought he would want to be within ten klicks of her - she was dangerous and on the run and would quite possibly be dragged into custody the moment her hunters found her, along with anyone caught in the crossfire.

"I'm sorry - I shouldn't have assumed that you would want to stay," she apologized after a few moments, and to her surprise, Clark comforted her with a smile.

"No, it was a good assumption. We're traveling together."

Darcie shot him another odd look, but didn't question it and instead busied herself with digging through the glove compartment's crumpled collection of old roadmaps (with the exciting addition of a flashlight, ancient pack of nicotine gum, and some napkins). They had been traveling for nearly two hours at this point, quite a good distance from the familiar territory near the town where Clark had been staying (almost two-hundred miles away now, if he had to guess)(at least he carried his duffel with him to work, so he hadn't really left much behind), so he focused on keeping an eye out for any helpful road signs in the lifting drizzle.

A few minutes later, he found one indicating a gas station and motel at the next exit. The rain had slowly begun to let up as he took the ramp off the highway and into the little town, intending to pull in at the 24-hour gas station for some fuel and a sandwich at the very least, but Darcie told him to drive on, intently studying the stained map in her hands. She gave him directions around and through a few back streets, away from the busier neighborhood and into the surrounding forest where asphalt gave way to an overgrown dirt track through the backwoods. Clark reluctantly held back any protests he might have had and kept on until Darcie finally decided they were far enough.

"I can take the wheel now," she told him, folding up the map to slip it back in the glove compartment. Guessing by the tone of her voice that the statement was more of an order than an offer, Clark reluctantly stopped the truck and hopped out. She slid into the driver's seat and was about to start the rig back up again when he stopped her with a hand on the door.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to crash it," she answered simply, unfazed by the fact that it could easily kill her, "I've done it before, I'll be fine-"

He shook his head, rejecting the suggestion immediately and looking around for a better one before his gaze settled on the logs stacked on rig's enormous trailer. "I have a better idea."

At his insistence, Darcie climbed out and watched him as he walked around the trailer, easily snapping the cables that held the trunks onto the load bed with a sharp tug and causing the pile to tumble down over the road. With a low grunt, Clark hefted one of the dead trees above his head despite it being nearly a half-a-meter in diameter - and drove it like a spear into the cabin of the truck. A shower of sparks and broken glass erupted under the impact while Darcie watched unflinchingly, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly as he grabbed another log and ran it through the vehicle when Clark suddenly remembered she was there.

"You want to try?" he asked with a grin, already picking up the next log.

She warily stepped closer and put her hand on the other end of it, still a little in shock after what she had seen him do, but she was willing to make an attempt - even if all it proved was that she was hallucinating all of this. Reaching under to pick it up as he did, Darcie dug her hands into the bark for a good grip and spread her feet in preparation to lift. Her muscles burned some under the enormous weight - of course they did, she would have expected nothing less - but it didn't hurt nearly as much as she'd thought it would. The huge log shifted with surprising ease, and Darcie suddenly found herself capable of hefting one end onto her shoulder just as Clark did the same with his, beaming with pride.

"Great job!" he cheered, "Do you think you can get it above your head?"

Darcie hesitated at that, suddenly unsure. Her shoulder was already sore and straining from the effort, but she was not one to back down from a challenge and decidedly pushed through the pain, lifting the log once more as high as she could possibly get it. Her arms were already trembling, extended to their full-length overhead, yet she gritted her teeth and held them there, ignoring the agony sparking in her shoulders. Clark whooped something that was probably meant to be celebratory or encouraging, but she didn't hear it - she was too focused on making sure the damn log didn't fall. It wasn't too heavy, it wasn't, it was just very big and dark and leaning over her like-

Something snapped.

It hurt.

Darcie wasn't sure afterwards if it was the log or her shoulder that was doing the hurting, but whatever it was broke with a resounding crack, and it all came crashing down.

Clark tugged sharply on his end of the log to pull it towards himself and avoid hitting her when it fell, though it didn't quite go the way he intended it. In an instant, the trunk was on the ground and he was sprinting towards the other end - it hadn't gone the way he'd thought, it'd probably hit her, she might be stuck underneath, she might be injured, he had no car now and would have to carry her to the nearest hospital, but Clark was miles away from familiar territory and had no idea where the nearest hospital was, she might be dead-

She wasn't dead, thank heavens.

He found Darcie sort of standing there with the end of the log at her feet, a long scrape torn through her shirt on one arm and another scrape on the same cheek where the trunk had sort of… rolled off of her. It hadn't crushed her at all, and besides a few scrapes and bruises, Darcie appeared to be perfectly fine as she stared down blankly at the log, hugging her chest as if that were the only way to keep herself together, and swore, "Oh, fuck."

"Are you okay?" Clark questioned urgently, looking her over in the beam of the rig's remaining headlight. He touched her shoulder to get her attention, and the contact seemed to draw her back to reality as her blue eyes flickered and she inhaled sharply. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the panic muddling her thoughts before she realized that Clark was staring at her and still expecting an answer.

"I-I am sorry. I have failed," she whispered guiltily, falling to her knees on the muddy road. "I submit to my punishment."

"What?"

Darcie hung her head resignedly, not meeting his questioning gaze as she repeated herself. "I have failed. I deserve punishment."

Clark suddenly remembered the scars he had glimpsed covering her arms, and would've bet his boots she had just as many in other places. Someone had done this to her, someone had beaten and scarred her for life, someone had taught her to beg for punishment. That someone was out there now hunting for her, bent on bringing her back where doubtless she would be beaten again, harder than before.

It was at that moment that Clark knew that they would be traveling together because come hell or high water, there was no way he was going to let her abuser find her. Not if he had anything to say about it first.

"Darcie, I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, bending down slowly so as not to scare her, "What you did was amazing - you did something 'most no one else can. I know you're scared, but it's not something you should ever have to be afraid of, and one day you'll be able to do much more than just lift logs. We both will - we just have to grow into these… these powers a little bit."

She looked up at him stone-faced, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I'm not afraid. I never said I was."

Clark paused at that, but couldn't really come up with a proper response to her show of bravery and instead motioned for her to stand up. It was late, and autumn in the wilds of Canada was nothing to laugh at - especially at night in the middle of nowhere without a car. Darcie didn't look cold, but he removed his coat anyway and placed it over her shoulders (gently so she didn't flinch again) before he got back to wrecking the truck.

He could feel her gaze following him as he made his way back to the rig, hefting another log with ease and resisting the urge to vent his fury by crushing it beneath his fists. Anger bubbled uncomfortably inside him, a feeling that he didn't especially enjoy but was more than happy to take out on the half-mangled hunk of steel and burning rubber in front of him. Clark fought the urge to just let loose and completely destroy the vehicle in a fit of rage, but held himself back and instead satisfied himself with shoving one or two more logs through the wrecked chassis. Though he would never admit it, he was furious - furious at Ludlow for being such a predatory dick, at Darcie's abuser for hurting her so badly, at himself for scaring her earlier, at her for almost kidnapping him, at his dad for…

No. Not at his dad.

Clark heard the screech of tearing steel as another log was driven into the rig, but it wasn't him causing the noise. He looked over to see Darcie hefting another trunk onto her shoulder, his coat tied around her waist as she ran it through the mutilated remains of the truck.

She returned his gaze with a triumphant look, and he smiled. "Are you hungry yet?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted, picking her way through the debris that just a few minutes ago had been the rig to a clear spot in the rough dirt road. Clark hesitated a moment longer at the wreckage, and after a short search pulled out the flashlight they had found earlier before making his way to join her. Together they set out on the lonely track back town, the path lit only by the flashlight and slivers of dim moonlight peeking through the clouds.

"Why did you ask me to drive?" he asked after a while, readjusting the strap of his duffel over his shoulder, and Darcie shrugged.

"If we got pulled over, what officer in their right mind would believe that piece of shit belonged to someone like me?"

He grinned teasingly. "I think you could have pulled it off."

Clark swore he saw her blush a little at that, picking distractedly at the hem of his coat to hide her embarrassment, and he chuckled softly.

"C'mon, let's go find something to eat."


	4. Ivory, Nylon, and Rumors

**Chapter 4: Ivory, Nylon, and Rumors**

* * *

"A flat white and a mocha latte for Joe!"

Clark gave the barista a polite smile as he picked up his order, holding the cardboard cup carrier in one hand while he paid. Deciding that he had a little time to get breakfast, he browsed the shelves of the gas station's tiny food aisle before leaving with a small box of cream cheese, a bag of bagels, and a carton of orange juice.

The walk back to the motel was short and uneventful - almost no one was outside at six in the morning during the early drizzle, except for the occasional truck that drove past. He reached the small roadside inn, removing the hood of his coat as he entered the warm reception lobby and made his way down the hall to Room 5.

Switching the coffee and plastic shopping bag containing his purchases to one hand, he knocked politely on the door with his other, not especially knowing what to expect. Clark was aware that some people didn't live on a farm schedule like him, so she could easily have still been asleep. On the other hand, she could have left already - they had paid for their motel rooms separately the night before, and considering what little he had learned about her tendency to move quickly and unexpectedly from place to place, Darcie may have simply decided to move on without him. Both were equally likely in his mind, but Clark was pleasantly surprised when the door opened a moment later, revealing Darcie dressed and showered already - if the damp bun on top of her head was anything to go by.

"Good morning," he beamed, "Can I come in? I brought coffee."

Darcie didn't reply, looking him over, her eyes taking in the coffee carrier, bag of groceries, his muddy work boots, and soft smile all in an instant. Clark liked to think that he was pretty good at reading people, and if last night had taught him anything, it was that Darcie had a record-breaking poker face and tended to express a lot more with the tension of her shoulders than she ever did with her mouth. Now he saw the muscles beside her neck relax ever so slightly, a sign that she had probably made up her mind in his favor, and a moment later she confirmed it by stepping back to let him inside.

The first thing he noticed was that her room looked neater than it had the night before - if that was possible - and the second was that the previous thought was correct excluding the collection of tourism maps and flight timetables (probably taken from a brochure stand) arranged on a nearby desk.

"Did you sleep okay?" Clark asked cheerfully, glancing briefly at the documents as he set the groceries and coffee beside them.

"I slept decently," she answered, peeking inside the grocery bag, "How about you?"

"Pretty well, I guess. Here, I got you a mocha. You sort of look like a person who'd like chocolate - it's lactose-free milk, don't worry."

Darcie just stared as he thrust the warm paper mug into her hands, a little unsure what to do with it - should she just hold it for him? warm it up in the microwave? did he want her to add more milk? - but Clark recognized her hesitation as something else besides confusion.

"You do drink coffee, don't you?"

"What? Yes, I drink coffee. I just… I'm just surprised that you thought to get me something. You didn't have to…" Darcie trailed off, struggling to explain herself before finally settling on showing her gratitude, "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome! There are also bagels and cream cheese if you're hungry," Clark smiled, opening the grocery bag beside him on the desk and retrieving the aforementioned bagels, "You want me to make you one?"

Darcie paused again and shot him a look that he couldn't quite read before shaking her head. "I-I can make my own, thank you. I have a knife if you need one."

She slid a hunting knife across the table to him, calmly sipping at her coffee as he picked it up. Where she'd got it and how she had hidden it on her person, Clark had no idea - but it would work for spreading the cream cheese.

Looking back at his bagel, his eyes flickered red with solar fire that made a clean cut lengthwise through the bread, the heat toasting it immediately. Clark picked up her knife and the cream cheese packet to spread it on his breakfast when he noticed Darcie staring at him warily.

He froze, suddenly remembering every other time someone besides his parents had seen him use his powers - it rarely ended well, usually with the witness screaming, avoiding him whenever possible, or calling the police or minister. Darcie, on the other hand, just put a few more feet of distance between them while she tried to figure out what exactly she'd seen.

"It's okay," Clark assured her quickly, really hoping she didn't scream. That had been stupid on his part - he shouldn't have done that in front of her, but part of him had hoped that she'd be used to such things if she had similar abilities herself, "I won't hurt you, Darcie, I promise-"

"I want my fucking knife back."

Oh. Yeah, he was holding that, wasn't he. It was no small wonder she was clenching her fists as if about to take on a heavyweight boxer - he was holding her only weapon and had only moments proved that he was a bit more dangerous than she had expected. Clark quickly set it down on the desk well within her reach, not having gotten around to using it for the cream cheese, but breakfast was now forgotten as he watched Darcie snatch the weapon up and immediately shove it into a sheath in the hem of her jeans that had been previously hidden beneath her shirt. In the half-second that her stomach was exposed, Clark caught another glimpse of the silvery scars he had caught sight of the night before, but quickly looked away before she could catch him staring. To be perfectly honest, she didn't give a fuck about what he saw or any weakness he might interpret the injuries as - in fact, they were the farthest thing from her mind at the moment as she paced the small motel room.

They were goddamn effing _aliens_.

And to make matters worse, this wasn't news to her.

Lex had told her outright that she was different, she wasn't from here, she was a damn extraterrestrial, but like most of what he said, Darcie simply dismissed the claims. He was a little wrong-in-the-head sometimes and tended to talk for hours about things she didn't understand the half of, but he was still a genius nonetheless. A genius who had known what she was from the start. And she had been too stupid to listen to him.

Like everything else in the universe, the Rooms had a purpose - to study the alien Herr Luthor had captured and his son had groomed. The alien who was stronger and faster than any human her age, the alien who could learn at a more advanced level than any of her researchers had predicted, the alien who… they trained to become a weapon. And she loved what they had made her, but had no idea how to even begin to understand what she had been before.

Where had she come from? It certainly wasn't Earth, that was for sure. Who knew what she was? Besides Lex, Slade, and a few LexCorp employees, it would be hard to tell. How had she come to Earth? It was likely that only Lex knew that, and he likely didn't even know all too much. What the absolute fuck was she going to do now?

"Darcie?" Clark spoke up, cutting through her thoughts and dragging her back to reality, "Darcie, you're freaking me out a little bit. Are you all right?"

She blinked, struggling to separate his voice from the ones screaming outside her head, and glanced up at him standing a few feet away, watching her with mild concern.

"Darcie, I don't think you're breathing quite right," he said gently, and it suddenly occurred to her that he was correct. Her chest felt uncomfortably cold and tight, like a chunk of ice had wedged itself beneath her breastbone and was beginning to grow and grow and grow and soon she would freeze over and be stuck there - she couldn't be stuck, she needed to move, what if something happened, what if she needed to run-

Darcie realized she was having a panic attack.

She couldn't have a damn panic attack - they were stupid and useless and weakening and distracting. She needed to focus, keep herself calm, and try to answer the mess of questions the past few days had raised.

What was she going to do now? Find out more. From who? From Clark. He knew what she was - what they both were. He knew what she was, but he had no goddamned idea what that meant. He didn't know that she had been studied and documented and trained, that she was a lab rat - someone's experiment, someone's property, someone's _weapon_. He didn't even know who was looking for her or why she was running, but he did know what she was running to.

He knew about her shard.

And conveniently enough, Clark happened to be thinking about the same thing at that exact moment.

"I know I asked you last night..." he said slowly, trying to draw her attention away from whatever was going on inside her head and back to him, "...but do you possibly know anything else about that shard you have?"

"What?"

Darcie stared at him blankly, absently rubbing her chest just over her breastbone and leaning heavily against the table, but at least she was breathing a bit more normally now - if he hadn't known any better, Clark would have thought she had been on the verge of a seizure or something (he just hoped she didn't have any medical problems that might suddenly pop up, he had no idea who to even call). Instead of dwelling on it, he simply coughed politely to get her attention and repeated himself a little slower, "I asked if you maybe knew much else about your shard."

"My shard?" she said slowly, her brain still entangled in the last dredges of the panic attack and taking a moment to catch up, "Are you talking about my key?"

Clark blinked, "It's a key?"

"I think so - it's edges are too uniform to be natural, and if someone took the time to craft it, it must have a purpose. Considering the regularity of the pockmarks underneath and how each of ours has slightly different patterns, I think they must be keys to something. What do you think they are?"

"Oh. I thought it might have just been a talisman or something - a reminder of where I came from," Clark answered simply, "I like your idea better."

Darcie frowned, palming her shard out from beneath her shirt and glaring at it in her hand, "I'm going to be thoroughly pissed if they are just extraterrestrial jewelry, because this is the shittiest necklace I have ever seen."

Clark might have laughed aloud at that if she hadn't looked nearly as pissed as she said, the veins around her eyes darkening ever so slightly, so he quickly changed the subject instead. "If they are keys… what do they unlock?"

His ship - the one he'd arrived in, it had to be. His dad had mentioned once that they found Clark's shard in the craft with him, and that was the only other artifact from his planet of birth, so what else could it go to?

"I came in a ship," he spoke up, "It's back in Kansas, I've kept it hidden, but maybe-"

"No."

"No? But that's where my ship is - we might be able to use it."

"I'm not going south."

She couldn't go south. South, farther down, down in America, was both safe and dangerous - there were people and police nearly everywhere one went, which if Lex got hold of her again would make it much harder for her to simply disappear off the face of the Earth without _somebody_ noticing, but it was also where LexCorp's net of connections and surveillance was tightest. Hunting her down would be infinitely easier, and Lex was not one to let a little crowd of witnesses stop him from dragging her back to the Rooms-

"Darcie," Clark said softly, "You're breathing a little heavily again - do you want some water?"

She shook her head, clenching her fists at her sides.

"We can't go south," she said finally, gritting her teeth against the panic rising in her throat, "But we have to keep moving."

"Where to? We can't stay in roadside motels forever," Clark pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. He was getting pretty fed up with her cryptic refusals and demands and straight-up paranoia, but he had to admit, so far she had had a decent reason for everything she had told him to do the night before. Darcie was a bit 'against the grain' as his mom would have put it - and then again, they both were, they were aliens for heaven's sake - and Clark finally decided he could put up with that as long as she remained sane in her decision-making. She needed help, and though he wasn't sure what kind yet, Clark was going to give it to her.

Darcie had been awfully quiet since he had pointed out the flaw in her refusal to turn south, but an idea was forming in her mind - a hazy one but it had a direction at least, and a direction was all she needed. Damn Lex to the deepest hell for everything he'd done, for making her a weapon, for making her a gun - all she needed was a point and she'd shoot, but this time she would shoot her own way instead of his.

"There's rumors of an anomaly up north on Ellesmere. We could maybe check it out," Darcie suggested.

Clark paused, "You were listening to the CFs, weren't you? Back at Cassidy's?"

"So were you, apparently. Didn't your mom ever teach you not to eavesdrop?"

He paused again at that, blushing slightly. It hadn't exactly been eavesdropping - more like the two lieutenants taking dinner at the pub had been talking a bit loud and Clark had just happened to be wiping a counter nearby. Plenty of other customers must have heard them too, but that didn't matter now - what really caught his attention was the fact that Darcie had mentioned it, they both had heard it, and ever since last night, Clark had felt drawn to it.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, it was always an ever-present thought in his mind - and every time it came up, there would be a strange tug in his heart to find out more. It intrigued him, and by the look on Darcie's face, it intrigued her too. It was strange, he thought, the way they both felt compelled to find this 'anomaly'. Maybe it was just wishful thinking or was it something more - something like them that wasn't from Earth? There was only one way to find out.

"Okay," Clark sighed, "Let's go."

The words had barely left his mouth before Darcie had darted across the room to scoop up her backpack and immediately make a u-turn into the bathroom - quickly packing her tooth- and hair-brush by the sound of it. He barely had time to ask what on Earth she was up to before she reappeared a moment later to shove Clark's bag of groceries back into his hands (which he had to juggle while still holding his half-eaten bagel).

"There's an airport in the next town over that can get us a flight north," she explained, and Clark couldn't help but grin at her sudden enthusiasm.

"When do we leave?"

"Soon as you grab your duffel and get your boots on."


	5. Tangerine, Snow, and Gravel

**Chapter 5: Tangerine, Snow, and Gravel**

* * *

In all honesty, Clark found his companion a little bit daunting. Somehow she'd managed to procure them false papers and plane tickets just by typing at a rented laptop in an internet cafe for a few hours. It was then that he'd learned that Darcie was only nineteen and had her pilot's license - whoever her abuser was, they'd made sure she got a good education. He was secretly relieved when they arrived at the airport and their pilot turned out to be a balding man in his mid-forties with a thick French-Canadian accent, and not her.

There were no direct flights north to Ellesmere Island without going through one of the larger airports down south, but Darcie vehemently refused to go anywhere near them no matter the cost, and instead they resorted to traveled in short hops from airport to airport, switching planes as they made their way towards the Arctic Circle. A few hours northeast, another hour north, half a day west, cold seats and grey clouds (nearly every plane they traveled in seemed to have an indoor temperature just above freezing, but neither of the two travelers really seemed to mind the cold). They carried on this way for a day and a half, spending most of their time in small planes and even smaller airports, slowly making their way north. Until they reached Tulita.

Clark felt her tense beside him as the pilot let the landing gear down on their approach to the airport, her eyes fixed out the small window on something far below. Sensing her unease, he followed her gaze and saw the tiny airport just coming into view with its main building, hangers, and arrangement of aircraft off to one side of the runway. Something about the way they were parked looked different than any of the other landing strips he and Darcie had passed through recently - Clark didn't know much about planes, but he knew that any pilot would certainly have some trouble getting his craft onto the runway if they were parked in lines like that.

"They're grounded," Darcie muttered, catching his attention. and it wasn't long before she was proved right. Upon landing, the passengers were alerted that all departures had been delayed by the airline until a complete check could be completed to ensure the planes were all in condition to fly.

Darcie swore when she heard the news and glared daggers at the LexAir representative behind the check-in desk, but to her companion's relief, she refrained from confronting the man. Instead, she did the next best thing - glared at the two display screens in the entire one-room airport, scanning for any flights within the next twelve hours all whilst bouncing her leg in a way that was apt to wear through the linoleum before she was done reading. Clark stood a few feet away with his duffel sling over his shoulder, reading through the same list of canceled flights as Darcie (minus the leg-bouncing, of course) and casually allowing his enhanced hearing to wander beyond human range.

Clark preferred to simply tune out every conversation around him and focus on unimportant things like animals or engines or the wind, but the occasional voice would break through his focus and add to the cacophony thundering in his head. It wasn't exactly eavesdropping - his mom had raised him too well for that, and eavesdropping usually involved purposefully listening in on a specific conversation one wasn't invited to join. But with everyone talking as loud as they were and as close to him as they were, it was a bit hard to block out _everything_.

"-said all LexAir flights from Norman Wells to Fort McMurray have been canceled."

"We have to find a motel before they fill up."

"-not flying for at least another two days."

"What about the winter road? Too far for the kids."

"-stuck here-"

"Call your aunt-"

"Clark?"

He realized he'd let his hearing take up more of his focus than he'd realized, leaving him with his thoughts unaware of anything going around him, and that Darcie had her hand on his arm, trying to get his attention.

"Clark, we have to go. Now."

The tone of her voice was urgent enough for him to know immediately that something was wrong, but looking around he couldn't see anything that implied danger or a need to get moving quickly. He sighed, still a bit tired and put out by flying all day (Clark hated flying in planes, though he was too nice to tell her that), and turned back to the departure board. "Hold on, let me finish reading the-"

"I'm serious - we need to go," she whispered, nodding towards a squad of security guards each with an orange X-like logo emblazoned on their vests. "We have to get out of here before they notice us."

Clark honestly couldn't see any reason to be afraid of a few peacekeepers, and remembering when she'd 'abducted' him without much explanation decided she was probably just nervous, if a little paranoid. Ignoring her tugging on his coat sleeve, he went back to watching the display board for another flight when suddenly the tugging stopped and was replaced by her pulling him forcefully towards the exit.

"Hey! Let go!" he protested, catching the security's attention.

"Sir, is everything all right?" one asked, approaching them with the intention of settling the disturbance, and Clark heard Darcie's heart rate increase rapidly, her grip on him suddenly faltering as he turned to face the man.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he amended quickly, placating the security personnel with the first thing that came to his head, "My sister just gave me a little scare, that's all."

The man looked skeptical, but didn't push the matter and stepped back to join his coworkers, letting the pair continue on their way. He had only retreated a few feet before Darcie grabbed his arm again (much gentler this time), putting Clark between herself and the security guards as she steered him quickly towards the exit without a backward glance. Clark could almost feel her apprehension as if it were a solid thing, but dutifully took note of her mood and kept quiet till they were outside in the airport parking lot, away from any curious eavesdroppers.

"Darcie," he said finally, pulling himself free of her grip, "What the hell was that about?!"

She stopped dead in her tracks when he said her name, turning back to face him, and flinched at his raised voice.

She actually flinched.

Clark had seen her get pretty close to doing so before, but it had never been as clear as it was now. Something in it crushed most, if not all of any anger he might have felt towards her for… well, for the chaos that had become his life ever since she had gotten between him and that trucker's fist only a few nights before. Darcie - who recklessly got into pub brawls, supposedly crashed cars on purpose, and kept a knife on her person at all times - had actually _flinched_ when he raised his voice at her. And Clark had no idea what it meant, but he did know that he regretted it and desperately wanted to stop her chest from heaving the way it was. Not only that, but he could hear her heart thundering in his ears - a little slower than it had been inside the airport, but still fast enough to be considered racing - while her breathing was becoming significantly labored.

"You okay?" he asked gently, trying to forget any last remnants of his anger and keep his voice soft and soothing instead. Darcie, though, didn't give him any form of a verbal answer and simply nodded in reply, staring down at the gravel parking lot. Her silence was a little disconcerting, giving him the sense that something was still wrong. They hadn't been followed out of the airport, and almost no one was outside except for a few airport buses preparing to carry passengers into town, but the way she was cradling her chest still made him worry. It was only when she started trembling that he realized how serious it was.

"Please tell me you're not having an allergic reaction," he frowned, not really sure what he would do if she was. Clark stepped warily closer so he could look her over, but Darcie pushed past him and continued walking out of the parking lot towards the highway.

"I'm fine." she managed finally, panting hard as he caught up and walked beside her. "I'm just… just a bit winded-"

A wave of nausea caused her to stumble, but Clark was immediately at her side with a proffered arm to help her back to her feet. "Darcie, you're not fine. Are you sick or something? You could be hurt-"

"Panic attack."

She spat the two words out, hating how weak they made her. There was no room for weakness, especially now when her hunters were so close. Any moment that she was vulnerable could be the moment that they caught her, the moment that they dragged her back, the moment that they dragged _Clark_ back with her-

Her chest tightened at the thought and Darcie gasped involuntarily, struggling to keep herself from crying.

"Do you know what caused it?" Clark asked gently, and she hesitated a moment before nodding, biting her lip to hold back the tears.

"Those security guards… they were looking for me."

It suddenly clicked. Those logos on the guards' vests - they hadn't been airport security, but a private group patrolling the crowd. They were working for someone else. Someone who was looking for her, and apparently had quite a lot of resources to spend on doing so. If those men had recognized her, if her hunters had the money Clark was willing to hazard a guess they had plenty of, it would not be long before the entire town was searched and they were discovered. That added a whole slew of complications to their situation as it could only end one way: with Darcie back with her abuser, and Clark would not, _could not_ let that happen. Their plan hadn't changed - they just had to keep moving.

Darcie was still struggling in the midst of a panic attack, breathing heavily and still cradling her chest, fists clenching and unclenching as she stood there. Fortunately, the worst of it seemed to have passed and Clark could already hear her breaths slowly returning to a normal rate, though he still found himself wanting for her hand in an attempt to help in any little way he could.

He didn't, but stood quietly nearby, not really sure what to do besides simply be there for her while Darcie battled with herself, but by now she had calmed down enough to wipe her eyes and speak normally without fighting for breath, touching his arm to get his attention. "Clark, we can't stay here."

"But the planes are grounded." he pointed out, and she shook her head.

"There's a truck-rental back by the hangers, and the winter road opened early this year. If we leave now, we can reach Norman Wells before nightfall, and Fort Good Hope by tomorrow evening."

Before he could ask how she knew all that, Darcie was heading back across the airport parking lot at a steady pace, Clark jogging along after her. He took note of how she held her head high, drawing herself up to her full height (which was surprisingly only up to his shoulder), but what she lacked in height she made up for in sheer determination and intimidation, purposefully keeping herself between him and the tiny terminal building despite how much she clearly didn't want to be anywhere near the place. Clark admired her ability to shove down the fear that had left her paralyzed only a few minutes before, and smiled a little when he saw how fast she'd recovered. If one thing was for certain, it was that Darcie was a fighter and certainly a force to be reckoned with.

The rental company was housed in a building not much bigger than two shipping containers, with four cars parked outside - the inside, on the other hand, was completely blank except for a window, a row of uncomfortable-looking chairs, and a desk behind which sat a very bored looking manager who brightened up the moment they stepped in. "Hi, can I help you with anything?"

Clark put on a smile as he approached the counter and gave the man a friendly nod, falling back onto the spur-of-the-moment explanation he had used in the airport. "Yeah, me and my sister are trying to reach Fort Good Hope, but all the planes have been grounded. Is it possible for us to maybe rent a smaller car to get us up there?"

The man's face fell slightly and he glanced out the window at his line of four-by-four cross-country trucks, which by no definition could be considered on the small side. "Well, I don't really have any 'smaller' cars per se - and even if I did, none would survive long on the winter road at this time of year."

He sat considering for a moment, then turned to the phone.

"You know what I'll do," he said, dialing a number, "I'm going to see if any mail choppers are going that way - maybe you can hitch a ride with someone."

Clark thanked him and glanced back over his shoulder at Darcie, who was sitting quietly on one of the waiting chairs with her backpack open on her lap as she nibbled at a plain bagel. He sighed quietly in relief, happy that she had recovered enough to at least get a little food into her after suffering a panic attack (those could be really draining - he should know), and turned back to the manager who was scowling at the ground with the phone to his ear. Clark only caught the last few words, saying, "Sorry, John, no civilians are allowed to leave till next week. They'll need to take a car."

John nodded stoically, thanking the man and hanging up before turning back to his customer. "One-way trip, right? If you won't be returning to Tulita, I cannot allow you to take the car farther north than Norman Wells so it can be returned to our company - but I'm sure from there you can get another one to reach Fort Good Hope."

It was a tough proposition, one he was not in the mood to accept, but Clark knew he really had no other choice. "How much?"

"One-hundred-ten, sir. Tax included. And we, uh, don't accept card at the moment - the machine's broken again."

He froze, immediately knowing he didn't have enough and was about to ask where the nearest ATM was when Darcie silently slid two hundred-dollar bills across the desk to the man. Neither said anything as he counted out the change and passed it to her before hesitantly handing the keys to Clark.

"Have a safe trip!"


	6. Midnight, a Radiator, and the Wind

**Chapter 6: Midnight, a Radiator, and the Wind**

* * *

Darcie, as Clark had quickly gathered in the little time that he'd known her, was a bit on the nonverbal side and not an especially conversationalist passenger - one of the 'don't speak unless spoken to' kind. She said only two words in the entire three hours it took them to reach Norman Wells, and it was only at a junction in the outskirts of Tulita telling him to "turn left" at a crossroads. All the questions he asked were either answered by a nod, a shake of the head, or silence, and Clark resorted to watching her shoulders for a response, but they had remained warily taut ever since the run-in with her hunters.

Upon reaching Norman Wells, they traded in the Tulitan truck for one from another rental company, which again Darcie silently paid for in hundred dollar bills. Neither were very tired or wanted to pay for accommodations in town, so after grabbing some food, they continued on north into the night.

The winter road was exactly as Clark had expected: a bit rough and bumpy, especially that early in the year, but decently paved for such a rural area that relied mostly on planes instead of highways for transportation. Having grown up in a similarly 'off-the-beaten-path' farming community, he was used to most of the highways being in a state of disrepair and navigated the terrain like he'd been doing it for years (he had).

The dashboard thermometer read in the lower-forties, so like any logical farmboy, Clark had the heater running in hopes that it would keep the inside of the car at a decent temperature - not that either of the supposed aliens felt the cold. It was just one of those things that one did when it was chilly out and needed a little comfort to keep them warm at night, sort of like cocoa and fuzzy blankets. And after the turmoil of the day, both mental and physical, he thought Darcie might need a little comforting in any small way she would accept it. Thus the heater.

"Are you hungry?" Clark asked after they had been driving a while, a pre-made tuna-and-mayo sandwich clasped in his right hand as he drove, and she shook her head.

"Tired?" he tried again, earning a shrug and he sighed. "Okay, just let me know if you need anything."

Darcie only nodded compliantly and turned to look out the window at the dark forest on either side of the road, hiding her face so he couldn't see how scared she was, the primal fear that prevented her from relaxing. She'd been scared ever since she was able to comprehend the feeling, and had learned to cover it up with emotionless obedience - yet now this farm boy with his shock of waving hair and handsome grin in the seat beside her was beginning to break down the walls she had built. She had known him for almost a week by now, and he had so far revealed no sociopathic killer or rapist tendencies, only a sweet and friendly demeanor. The worst thing about him was how annoyingly innocent the man was, never trying to touch her or drop any hints, unlike every other male she had met in her few weeks Outside. Clark was calm and kind and soothing and everything opposite the voices in her head that kept her up at night. She did not know if she loved or hated him for it.

Her first choice would have been to get rid of him - either with a knife or by simply parting ways, but she couldn't bring herself to do either. Even if she'd wanted to, Darcie doubted a knife would even be able to scratch him, and if she dropped him off somewhere, it would only be a matter of hours before Lex's hunters found him and…

They had to stay together - for his sake. And maybe a little for hers. Even so, if Lex really was hunting her as intently as she believed, her protection would never be enough to save him.

"You cannot have an emotional connection, you bloody idiot," she muttered under her breath, berating herself for even considering such weakness.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

She realized he'd heard her talking to herself, and shook her head to dismiss the mistake, resisting the urge to bash her skull against the window beside her. "It's nothing."

That seemed to satisfy him, and Clark turned his attention back to driving, but Darcie couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. If it came to a fight - and it would eventually - despite his size and strength, Clark wouldn't last two minutes in a proper battle. And only she could do something about that.

"What time is it?" she asked, and he glanced at the dashboard clock.

"Nearly eleven."

"Can we pull over for a little bit?"

He nodded, and a minute later pulled onto a nearby dirt shoulder just off the road.

"Do you want some napkins or something?" he questioned as she jumped out, and Darcie shot him a look.

"I am not going to the bathroom, if that is what you mean. Please get out of the vehicle."

Wondering what she was up to, he obeyed, leaving the truck running on the assumption that this wouldn't take long and pulling on a coat against the cold as he shut the door behind him. Darcie frowned when she saw the jacket. "Take the coat off. It's restrictive."

She herself was already shedding a sweater and long sleeve shirt until she stood there in just a tank top and jeans, waiting for him to follow suit. Reluctantly, he did and she gave him a small nod of approval. "Head down."

Darcie ducked her head for example, indicating that he should copy her position. "Arms in."

Putting her fists beside her cheeks, she pulled her elbows against her chest. "And knees apart-"

"Why?"

Clark looked thoroughly confused and crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring all of her instructions. "Tell me what's going on and then I'll consider doing, well, whatever it is you're doing, but I need some answers first."

"I am teaching you kickboxing," she explained.

"Yeah, I got that. But why?"

"Because it's a good martial art to start with, and it has powerful base moves that are commonly found in other-."

"No," Clark pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I meant why would you want to teach me how to kickbox- do kickboxing- I mean _fight_?"

That caused her to pause and Darcie stood up out of the stance, considering the heavy question.

"You saw the men at the airport today," she said slowly after a few moments' hesitation, "They were... looking for me. We are so far from anywhere, Clark, and still they are right at my heels. They… _He_ has many resources and… powerful connections - powerful enough to hurt even you."

"What kind of connections?" Clark asked skeptically, folding his arms over his chest. He knew she could be a bit paranoid at times, not to mention the fact that she probably hadn't slept much in a few days, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that _maybe_ Darcie was just a tiny bit hallucinatory. But even if she was seeing things, Clark certainly wasn't when she stepped into the beam of the truck's bright headlights.

The scars he had glimpsed only a few nights ago were much more numerous than he had first imagined - deep gashes freshly healed over with thin lines of silvery and pockmarked skin. They were barely noticeable in the daylight, but now that she'd drawn his attention to them he could see they were everywhere, reaching up even past her throat to scar her face.

"The connections themselves aren't that bad - some of them are okay, even - but they're still pawns. It-it's all just a game, all of it, but if you lose… you'll wish they had killed you when they caught you," she answered, her voice wavering slightly as she traced a line of silvery skin over her wrist. "If… if they do catch me, I want you to run, Clark. Run as far as you can, as fast as you can, and forget you ever knew me - it's best that way."

Her words hung in the cold air like a fine mist that dissipated slowly into the night, and he realized just how hard it would be to do as she asked. Something about the way she held herself even on the verge of collapse, the small, reluctant smile when he'd chide her for not letting him pay, her watchful protectiveness of him wherever they went. Clark had barely known her for five days, yet was already attached to her in a way he was reluctant to admit.

"I don't want to forget you," he said softly and she looked up at him in wondering surprise.

"Clark, I… I do not..."

"I can learn to fight," he urged, "You can teach me, and we'll keep running for as long as we need to. I swear, I won't ever let them find-"

"I don't want to forget you either."

The world seemed to stop as soon as she said the words, and Clark found himself unexpectedly holding his breath, scared of what she might say next and excited by the idea that she felt the same way. Darcie paused, shoulders taut and teeth nervously worrying her lip before she could finally come up with the words.

"I don't want to forget you either." she repeated softly, "So at least for my sake, let me teach you how to defend yourself. Properly."

Clark nodded. "Alright."


	7. Chrome, Sweat, and Quick Footsteps

**Chapter 7: Chrome, Sweat, and Quick Footsteps**

* * *

"Head down," she ordered.

"Head down," he repeated.

"Arms in."

"Arms in."

"Knees apart."

"Can I ask why?" Clark questioned, reluctantly spreading his legs in a crouch. It was freezing out, not to mention almost midnight in the middle of nowhere and pitch dark besides the truck's blinding headlights, so understandably he would have much rather been doing anything else. Darcie, on the other hand, seemed to be comfortably alert for once and snorted amusedly as if the answer to his question was obvious.

"Because it will help you duck faster - which would be highly beneficial if I were to do something like this."

Before Clark could even blink, she had launched herself towards him, feinting a double punch to his throat and a roundhouse kick to his head. To his great relief, she held the blow back without even touching him, her boot hovering a few inches away from his face and a triumphant look on hers.

"If I had made contact, you would have been left with at least a mild concussion and unable to breathe for the next twenty seconds or so, which gives me plenty of time to finish you off," Darcie stated concisely and evenly, putting her foot down to step out of his personal space, " To prevent that, you need to learn both defense and offense, starting with defense. I'll give you another chance - but this time you need to duck."

As promised, Darcie came at him with another sharp kick and sudden punch, but as told, Clark managed to dodge both harmless blows by crouching out of the way. Even he was surprised that he actually avoided the attack (even if she hadn't planned on hurting him), but Clark didn't have time to relish the feeling before she aimed another strike at his head, forcing him to repeat the move again.

Once Darcie knew that he was in fact capable of dodging, she made him do it over and over again, giving him a light tap instead of a solid blow to let him know he hadn't ducked far enough or moved fast enough. After doing that for a good ten minutes, she told him to lunge instead of duck, which worked just as well (as in Clark could barely move, his thighs were burning so bad, but he somehow managed to stay out of her way as they carried on).

Defense sounded simple enough when Darcie explained it - all Clark had to do was keep a constant eye on his opponent and maintain his balance so he could dodge her blows before they actually hit him. But considering his build and who he was fighting, it wasn't nearly as easy as it seemed.

"Too slow." she rebuked, tapping him yet again on his right shoulder, "Faster. Duck like your life depends on it, use the rush to your advantage. No, not like that - still too slow."

After nearly an hour of defense (which was basically just crouching and dodging and lunging and hopelessly trying to stay out of her range), Clark was ready to roll over from exhaustion. But to his surprise, Darcie hadn't even broken a sweat and was bouncing energetically on the balls of her feet, roaring to go another round.

"Offense?" he begged, hoping it'd be easier than ducking and dodging. She only sighed and put her fists up, crouched down in a fighting position like it was the most natural movement in the world.

"There are five basic maneuvers that involve your arms: the punch, the hook, the uppercut, the elbow hit, and the knee bash," she explained, acting out each one as she named the moves. "When punching, keep your thumb on the outside of your fist and remember that you're hitting the opponent with your knuckles, not your fingers - so don't roll your wrist. Keep it strong, yet flexible."

It was hard to keep up with the pace she set for him, showing him a short routine of three or four moves before having him repeat it until he was gasping for breath. At first, Clark didn't see any real reason for her to torture him like this, having him repeat the sharp motions over and over again, but then he saw himself gradually punching faster and more accurately. His muscles acclimated and memorized what they were doing once he was thoroughly warmed up, and after a while, he began to understand the power behind Darcie's movements when she showed him what to do, how one movement led to the next in a constant flow of energy. Drills were continuous reactions, looping from a punch to a dodge to two punches and a lunge, over and over and over again till Clark's fists twitched even when he wasn't performing one.

When Darcie finally decided he was at least somewhat quick enough to both dodge and hit, she taught him how to kick. Those were much harder and involved a lot more balance than Clark would have ever expected - even after going over them with her for another hour he could barely kick someone above the hip, while Darcie with her diminutive stature was kicking roundhouses above his head.

"Okay, let's put your skills to the test," she said finally, deciding she had had enough of seeing him struggle and would rather get on with an actual brawl (no matter how short it was), crouched into position - but Clark was reluctant.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, noting his hesitance and he blushed.

"I-I can't hit a lady."

She shook her head, tittering softly. "Honestly, Clark, your chivalry is appreciated, but you will never get close to landing a punch on me."

That was probably true, and despite the gentleman farmboy inside, he eventually caved.

Darcie was fast - much faster than him, not to mention that she knew exactly what she was doing. He knew she was going easy on him, but it was still satisfying to feel the rush of air that passed over his head when he ducked one of her kicks or tapped her knee. Clark could never get a hit in above her waist no matter how hard he tried and he became frustrated with how easily she could sidestep his attacks, constantly urging him on. "Faster. Harder. You should kick more, do not let your heels touch the ground. Go for the throat."

Clearly, his efforts were nowhere near challenging for her and Darcie was quickly getting bored, but she let him continue the fight for a little bit longer if only to give him some practice and herself an excuse to do a tiny bit of actual combat, even if it only involved sidestepping all of his simple attacks. Within two minutes Clark was thoroughly exhausted and panting for breath, yet good-naturedly continued swiping in Darcie's direction until she mercifully ended the fight with a lightning-fast maneuver that caught him completely off guard. In an instant, Clark suddenly found his legs swept out from beneath him and his head caught between her fists as she gently tapped it to her knee in a move that should have shattered his nose if she had put any force into it.

That was it. She released him almost immediately, allowing Clark to get up with the knowledge that he had been thoroughly and expertly whupped by a young woman nearly two-thirds his size. And to be perfectly honest, Darcie didn't look one bit smug about it - tired and satisfied, if anything, but otherwise she maintained your usual lack of expression while Clark grimaced at a sore shoulder he had fallen on only a few minutes before.

She ignored him for the most part and paced back to the truck to rummage through her backpack, returning a few moments later with a towel, a bottle of body wash, and a water flask. Without any ceremony, she proceeded to fold her towel down to a more manageable size, wetting and soaping them before proceeding to wipe down any of her visible skin or places that might have gotten scraped or dirtied or hot. A moment later, she wordlessly thrust the soap, water, and towel into his hands, indicating that he should do the same.

Clark silently obeyed and found the makeshift 'bath' was surprisingly cleansing without having to even undress fully, leaving him free of any sweat or dirt he'd acquired during the training session - funnily enough, it wasn't far off from something he and his dad used to do after a day's work on top of a tractor.

"So do you fight like that often?" he asked, trying to start a conversation, but Darcie just shrugged in response as she re-tied the end of her braid that had started to come undone during their training.

"Yes, I fought for a few days of the month with an opponent, and the rest of the time I performed drills. It was hard work, but I… I enjoyed it."

That explained a lot - she must have been some sort of martial arts student before they met, and a good one too if she could knock Clark (who was nearly a head taller than her) over like he was lighter than air. Only ninety minutes of basic practice with her and he was already more sore than he'd been in years, exhausted to the bone and wanting nothing more than to hit the hay for a couple hours of sleep.

Stifling a yawn, Clark quickly finished his makeshift 'bath' so he could get back into the warm vehicle, too tired to do any more arduous driving on the dark and rough winter road. Darcie must have noticed his fatigue and didn't suggest moving on that night, simply grabbing her backpack and disappearing behind a nearby tree instead. That gave him some time to try to figure out where he was going to sleep.

The truck's cabin was a bit small and only had two cramped seats in it, but at least it would be warm - though Clark doubted he'd be able to get much rest with his legs curled up beneath the steering wheel. Unfortunately, it would have to do.

Darcie returned a few moments later - _appeared_, more like - when Clark suddenly realized that she was standing beside him looking into the truck (she was creepily silent when she wanted to be, while he was still panting for breath after their 'training'). He noted that she had changed out of her jeans into a pair of baggy sweatpants and tied her hair up in a loose bun, her backpack slung over one shoulder as she took one long look at the tiny space and moved towards the back of the vehicle. Without another word, she vaulted up into the flatbed, promptly unzipping her bag to pull out a travel blanket and carefully unroll in the back of the truck, when she noticed him staring

"Can I help you?" she asked, and he quickly shook his head.

"No, no, it's just… well, are you sure you won't get hypothermia sleeping outside in this weather?"

"I won't be sleeping - I'll be keeping watch," she corrected, pulling a sweatshirt on over her head. It made sense that she would want to be outside watching for any possible danger, giving her more room to react to the threat, but Clark still felt guilty about leaving the weaker sex out in the cold. Scratch that - Darcie was a straight-up badass, but he was a Midwestern farm boy with good manners and a gentlemanly streak a mile wide, so it was with little remorse that he hopped up beside her.

Darcie watched him with silent interest as he rolled his own travel blanket out beside hers after fetching it from his duffel, waiting till he had laid down with the cover pulled up around him before she followed suit.

It was quiet for a while. That was a lie - it was never quiet, but it was at least a little quieter than usual. The loudest sound on the shoulder of the empty highway was the wind sussurating through the trees, broken by the occasional branch snapping or low bird call in the distance.

Clark wouldn't say that he was cold, but he certainly wasn't used to sleeping outside surrounded by towering, windy evergreens instead of rolling plains of wild grass. The wind picked up a little and a shiver ran down his spine, reminding him how cold Canadian fall was, especially this far north. The inside of the truck would no doubt be warmer, but at least out here he had more room to stretch on his makeshift bed (carefully avoiding Darcie's personal space as he shifted). His companion didn't seem to mind any of it one bit, but she must have sensed his discomfort and spoke up. "You can sleep inside if it makes you any more comfortable."

Clark shook his head, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard surface. "I'm fine."

He heard her blanket rustle quietly as she moved, probably also finding it hard to find a soft spot in the flatbed before he realized she was digging through her bag.

"Pick your head up," she ordered, and too tired to argue with her, Clark obeyed. A moment later, something was shoved between his skull and the hard truck - something that felt an awful lot like a backpack filled with neatly bundled clothes that had just been offered to him as a pillow.

"Darcie, I'm fine," he protested again with a sigh, sitting up to give the bag back to her, "I appreciate that you thought of me, but I don't really need it-"

She snorted, sounding vaguely like a chuckle as she replied, "You're from Kansas - isn't there some Midwestern code of honor that you can't return a gift? Take it and go to sleep, Clark."

"I know, but-"

"I could knock you out. It wouldn't be hard."

Okay, that wouldn't be fun. He decided that it was probably safer if he rather gave in to the drowsiness gently lulling him to sleep, so he did as he was told and laid down with his head on her makeshift pillow. Clark fell asleep listening to the quiet drum of her fingers on the flatbed - the unspoken signal that she was keeping watch.


	8. Evergreen, Fire, and His Voice

A bit of a longer chapter here.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Evergreen, Fire, and His Voice**

* * *

Clark woke up slowly, lulled into a sense of calm by the rumble of the engine and the soft swish of windscreen wipers. The first thing he realized was that something was different - his legs felt a bit cramped and there was plasticy leather beneath him instead of the steel flatbed - and the second thing he realized was that somehow over the course of the night he had moved inside the truck to curl up in the driver's seat.

Rubbing his eyes and sleepily wondering how he'd ended up there, Clark glanced around in search of his companion only to find that Darcie wasn't in the truck. Not surprising - she had a habit of disappearing early in the morning, but there wasn't anywhere to go considering that they had parked on the empty shoulder of a dilapidated highway and the nearest town was a good hour south, not to mention that the weather would prevent one from getting very far.

A look out the fogged-up windscreen confirmed that it was definitely coming down in buckets - but despite the storm, Clark caught sight of a figure in a drenched tee and jeans farther down the road with her face turned up into the rain.

Darcie, if it was even possible, looked almost _relaxed_ as she stood there, silently watching the cloud gray sky overhead with the shadow of a smile on her lips. It was a little odd seeing her this way - off-guard, shoulders untensed, not constantly looking around for any sign of being watched or threatened or hunted - but relaxed as she was, Clark could still see how utterly exhausted her wariness left her.

His left leg was beginning to cramp, so he shifted position, pulling his thin travel blanket off and allowing himself to stretch a little in the small space. Unfortunately, the movement immediately caught Darcie's eye, the usual caution immediately returning to her stance as she watched her surroundings warily for any sign of a threat. It only took her a moment to realize that Clark was no longer asleep, the only person around for miles, and the cause of her disturbance.

Quiet moment forgotten, she started to make her way back towards him and their rental truck parked just off the side of the wet asphalt highway. Taking it as a signal that they should probably get moving before the downfall increased, Clark tossed his blanket back in his duffel before rubbing sleep from his eyes and putting the car into gear.

Meeting her halfway, he slowed to a halt and leaned over to open the passenger door so she could climb inside, chuckling amusedly at her drenched state.

"Good morning," Clark smiled, once again pulling the travel blanket from his bag and passing it to her so she could dry off, "How's the rain?"

Darcie, to his surprise, actually returning the smile with a small grin. "About forty to forty-five degrees out, the wind is blowing due east at around twenty miles-per-hour, and the storm probably won't let up until mid-afternoon - maybe later, depending on which way the cold front is moving over the mountains."

"Well, then," Clark replied, deciding against asking how she knew all that, "We'd better get on the road, hadn't we?"

The unexpected thunderstorm lengthened their journey with mudslides, potholes, and boulders to the point where it took nearly the entire day to drive up to Fort Good Hope on the banks of the McKenzie River - though it could have taken much longer if not for their combined knowledge of dirt roads and automobile mechanics. Clark had just about grown up inside a tractor repair barn, so he had a pretty good idea of how terrain worked and what it could do to a vehicle, while Darcie, on the other hand, actually knew what the second gear stick did (something to do with a 'transfer case' and 'low-range drive'). Even so, by the time they finally reached the outskirts of the town, it was already dark out and they only had just enough time to grab some dinner and check into a motel before the businesses closed for the night. As luck would have it, the motel had only one room available - with two single beds, thank God - and reluctantly realizing that it was their only option (he was definitely an outdoorsy guy, but he was not about to spend another night in a flatbed with only a travel blanket), Clark booked it for himself and Darcie.

The arrangement turned out to be not that bad and the room not unbearably small for two strangers whose only connections were a pair of alien shards and a few seemingly random paranormal abilities. Clark couldn't help but notice how his travel companion was just a tiny bit more on edge than usual, always fidgeting or pacing the room until he had politely asked her to sit down and get some food in her.

Darcie had obediently emptied her water bottle and downed half of the pre-made sandwich he passed her, but afterward, she went back to pacing again. That was when Clark noticed that she twitched.

It was only a tiny bit, nothing significant or worrisome - a tiny inclination of the head, a small muscle spasm in her shoulders, a minuscule irregularity in the soft pad of her feet on the thin carpet - but he noted that it happened every time there was an unexpected sound. Not in their room, of course - their room was nearly silent besides the cars passing on a nearby road and the soft hum of a heater. Darcie was probably picking up sounds from downstairs or outside, like doors or voices or the loud sounds of life in general.

Clark thought back to when he had first discovered that he saw the world more than a little bit different from the people around him. As long as he could remember, he had thought that everyone could hear every creak and groan of the basement water heater and the whirring of every gnat in the grass, that life was loud and painful and that was just how it was, until one day his mom sat him down and explained that it didn't have to be. He could control his hearing if he really focused, and it got easier as he got older until Clark could do it in his sleep. His parents helped him to find out how much a human could reasonably hear and naturally try to stay within that range, and how to avoid eavesdropping and loud sounds and only hear what he allowed himself to.

Clark could hazard a guess that Darcie probably hadn't had such practice - shoot, if anything, she seemed to barely be able to control her hearing at all - she was just good at tolerating it, more like. Which meant she had probably only developed the ability recently.

Out of curiosity, he coughed lightly, noting how she tensed at the sound before Clark asked under his breath as quietly as he could, "You can hear me, right?"

"Yes."

She stopped in her tracks, arms folded over her chest as she turned around to face him and said at a normal volume, "Why do you ask?"

"You're twitching an awful lot every time a door slams downstairs," Clark answered simply, "I thought maybe you were having trouble controlling your hearing or something. Is it bothering you? Can I help in any way?"

"I can control it just fine if I focus," was all she said, getting back to pacing a hole in the carpet from the window to the door and back again.

"So you're not focusing right now."

Darcie frowned, clearly not enjoying the interrogation. "I am."

"But won't you..."

Clark trailed off, knowing he probably wouldn't get a complete answer and still wondering how on Earth she could say she had control over what she heard and still jump at things she didn't have to listen to, when he realized that she was doing it on purpose. Darcie knew she could shut it all out, to duck inside her shell and just relax without having to hear it all - but she wouldn't do that because she was busy listening for something. Or maybe someone.

"Do you think we were followed?" Clark asked softly, now seriously considering the possibility as he watched Darcie come to a halt at the window and peek silently through the blinds - listening hard.

Allowing his hearing to go a bit beyond human range, Clark followed suit and listened too. There wasn't much to listen to - people talking and moving in the motel and surrounding buildings, cars on the road, appliances whirring and clicking mechanically, and the usual ever-present hum of radio- and micro-waves. Even so, the din was a bit overwhelming to his sensitive ears, even more so since he hadn't slept well for the past few nights.

By now it was nearly nine-thirty in the evening, and after a full day of driving, Clark was more than a little sore, tired, and ready for bed. He had no idea why he had even asked, it was a stupid question - of course they hadn't been followed. He would have seen or heard something while they drove on the winter road, maybe a car or an engine, but it had been completely devoid of human life for miles around.

Deciding that Darcie was probably just exhausted and still running on adrenaline from yesterday morning's encounter, Clark ignored her nervous behavior and grabbed his duffel as he headed for the bathroom to change. After brushing his teeth and changing into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a tee, he stepped out a few minutes later to see that she hadn't moved from her post at the window. Darcie acknowledged his presence by shifting her weight to her other foot, glancing briefly in his direction as Clark stepped closer.

"I'm all worn out, so I think I'm going to hit the hay," he said, stifling a yawn, "It might do you good to get some sleep as well. Which bed do you want?"

Darcie simply shrugged, eyes trained on the road below. "You can choose - I have no preference."

Too tired to put up a polite struggle, Clark sighed in resignation and leaned in to hug her goodnight.

Darcie tensed under his arms, staying as still as she possibly could when he gently squeezed her shoulders - stay still, don't move, don't move when you're being inspected, don't move until you are given permission, you are not allowed to move when you're being inspected-

_She flinched, damnit. It was only a tiny flinch, a small reaction to Lex's weight when he forced himself upon her, but he saw it nonetheless. She had disobeyed an order - stay still, don't move - and the punishment was simple. Hot, hard steel pressed firmly into her ribs, threatening a bullet, threatening pain, threatening a loss of freedom. _

And damnit, she wasn't about to lose something she had worked so hard to gain.

_Stormkrigeren growled a warning, her vision flickering red as she bent forward to break Lex's hold on her before suddenly twisting around to aim a solid kick at his head, but he saw it coming and the blow merely glanced off his shoulder. Someone was shouting in her ears - yelling, screaming, clawing at her focus and distracting her so that she did not see when he pulled the gun out and aimed it at her head. It was the click of the safety being removed that made her finally realize that she was staring down the barrel, and_-

The room was on fire.

Fuck, no, her _eyes_ were on fire.

A moment of panic raced through her veins before she quickly stamped it out, shutting her eyes as tight as she possibly could to make the fire stop. She had to stay calm, she had to stay calm, she could not panic, panicking would make it worse - fuck, damnit, her head hurt, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-

Mister Wilson would tell her to think slowly and logically. There was no logic behind her eyes being on fire, but they were and Darcie guessed she would have to work from there. There was a fire somehow, stay very still and keep your eyes closed so it doesn't spread (can eye-fire spread?), breathe slowly (fuck, it hurt), breathe through the pain. She needed to make it stop, but she had no idea how it had even started in the first place, this had never happened before, she hadn't trained for this-

"Deep breaths, Darcie. Deep breaths." a familiar voice told her and she obeyed, gasping for air as she tried to smother the flames by pressing the palms of her hands against her eyelids. It helped a little, forcing her to focus on her breathing instead of Clark's hand on her shoulder, rubbing slow circles in an attempt to get her to relax. He was _touching_ her, damnit, and though it didn't hurt, it still felt wrong and odd and dangerously intimate even though he was only massaging through her shirt, but he was still too close, and close was _bad_.

It was pure instinct that drove her to run, to hit, to get away - anything to put distance between herself and him as she took her hands from her face to strike out in his direction when Darcie suddenly realized that the world was no longer made of flame. She blinked a few times, but the fire didn't come back - everything looked normal and soft and cool, nothing had been burnt or broken, and Clark beside her appeared free of any ashes.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, I probably should've asked first 'afore hugging you," he apologized hurriedly, "Heat vision hurts a bit the first few times, but you'll get used to it. I'm really sorry - c'mon, let me help you up."

Clark's hand was on her arm again, gently urging her to stand, and she nearly obeyed before she saw him wince as he straightened up. His free hand instinctively reached to touch his shoulder, briefly massaging a sore spot there and hiding another wince as he did when it finally clicked for Darcie.

She… hurt him. She had hurt him. She had made a mistake - she had _hurt_ him.

In an instant, Darcie was on her knees, head hung in passivity and hands clasped behind her back. "I-I'm sorry. I submit to my punishment."

Clark looked mildly bewildered for a moment before realization swept over him and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. "This again? Darcie, you don't have to... I'm not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you ever again."

He wanted to believe that, he so badly wanted to make it true - but deep down, Clark knew he could never securely keep that promise and guarantee her safety. Even so, he would try his best.

"It's late. We'd better get some sleep if we want to keep moving tomorrow," he pointed out with a tired sigh. Darcie only nodded obediently, taking the cue that Clark would not change his mind and that she had better get up and ready for bed. Avoiding his gaze as best she could, she stood up and grabbed her backpack from beside the room door before vanishing into the bathroom.

Clark frowned slightly, watching her shut the door behind herself before the sound of running water reached his ears a few moments later. Right now, he didn't know what to think or what to even do about it - he was thoroughly exhausted, not to mention a little sore as he rubbed his stiff shoulder which was beginning to bruise where Darcie had managed to hit him. Folding back the covers of the bed nearest to the window, Clark got in and turned the bedside lamp off, habitually sending up a silent prayer of thanks for surviving the day. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, still wondering how on Earth she knew how to floor a man almost twice her size.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

She shut the bathroom door behind her as quietly as possible, doing her best not to make too much noise as she moved to turn on the shower, but even after the water had warmed up, Darcie didn't make any moves to undress or climb in. Instead, she sat silently on the closed toilet seat, her left knee bouncing nervously as she stared at the empty shower stall and swore viciously in her head.

Fuck, damnit, curse her own weakness and vulnerability and everything else that urged her to fight back instead of obey and stand still. She was supposed to stand still when she was being inspected, that was the rule - stand still and don't move, even if it hurts - but Darcie had moved. She had broken the rule, and because of that, she deserved punishment, not mercy.

No weakness. No hesitation. No mercy.

You get one hit it, you sure as hell go in for another.

The thing was, Clark hadn't hit her. Hadn't tried or even pretended to. He'd just stood there and stared at her with something like pity in his eyes - Darcie didn't want his pity, she wanted his respect, and she couldn't expect to earn it if she kept fucking up and showing weakness. Damn whatever he said, she still deserved to be hit.

Despite it being her own thought, Darcie still tensed at the idea, muscles twitching nervously in expectation of a blow and her blood pumping adrenaline as fast as they could carry it. The anxiety was sickening - having to wait for something you knew was coming, you knew you deserved, but you never knew when or in what form it would come. There was no way Darcie was going to be able to sleep like this, and even if exhaustion did force her into oblivion, she doubted it would be a comfortable one. She still needed to be punished - or at the very least, find a way to work off all of her tension and burn the adrenaline searing her veins.

Listening carefully, Darcie focused her hearing again in an attempt to pick up the faint sound of Clark's breathing on the other side of the wall. She struggled to make it out among all the other noises constantly bombarding her senses and overwhelming her concentration, but after a few moments, she thought she could just hear Clark's slow and steady breaths indicating that he was fast asleep.

Darcie counted to one-hundred-twenty just to be sure before she finally leaned over the tub to switch off the running water and got up to leave. As quietly as she was able, she made her way out of the bathroom to fetch her coat and the room key from beside the door, once again making sure that Clark really was thoroughly unconscious. When she was finally satisfied that all was well, Darcie left.


	9. Azure, Wool, and an Airplane

**Chapter 9: Azure, Wool, and an Airplane**

* * *

Growing up on a farm, Clark had always been an early riser, but once again he found that Darcie was up before him despite it being half-past five in the morning. She wasn't there when he got up to shower and get dressed, didn't appear when he got around to making the beds and packing his duffel, remained absent while he was beginning to get nervous - but finally stepped into their motel room around six-thirty with some muffins, more coffee, and plane tickets.

Clark, wisely, decided not to ask where she'd been.

She was perfectly quiet and polite all morning, only speaking when necessary during their short breakfast and later check-out, all with her hands tucked in her coat pockets as if merely waiting for a train and not making Clark as nervous as he was. She kept her hands in her pockets the entire forty-minute walk to the tiny airport, and most of the check-in and security process as well before sitting beside him for twenty minutes while they waited for their flight to board (still with her hands in her pockets).

There were only seven other passengers on the flight, which was mildly unsurprising considering how small the town and early in the morning it was, and all of them either fell asleep or started reading as soon as they were airborne. Darcie followed suit, contentedly busying herself with a sudoku book she'd found in a seat pocket, only to glance up occasionally at the fellow passengers and surroundings. There had been enough room in the small plane for Clark to get his own seat across the aisle from her, allowing them each a little bit of space - though he still kept a wary eye on her.

Not having anything else to do, he looked out the window at the world below and sipped at his second coffee in as many hours, still a bit cold and tired. Waking up in such an unfamiliar environment always messed with his head a little bit - Northern Canada was very different from what he was used to down south - though Clark noted that his fellow traveler seemed to adapt well to the freezing temperatures.

The scenery outside was interesting enough, and his keen eyesight could glimpse the occasional deer hiding in the trees thousands of feet below them, but the forest soon gave way to stony tundra covered by clouds. With nothing more to see, he leaned back and watched Darcie instead.

By now, they had been flying for a good forty-five minutes and she had already solved multiple puzzles, calculating the possibilities at an incredible pace and nervously tapping her pencil against her leg all the while. He had figured out early on that she was nervous like that - always at the edge of her seat and constantly alert, sometimes to the point where her alertness did her more harm than good. Thus the distinct lack of warm gloves she had usually taken to wearing while they traveled, if only to give the illusion that she was freezing her fingers off like the rest of the passengers

Clark could understand why she might not be wearing the gloves - her thin pencil could be hard to grip through a layer of wool. Or more likely, she didn't want any fabric touching the raw wounds on her knuckles.

He had to admit, she was very good at hiding them, but he still caught glimpses of her bruised and faintly bloodied hands. The sight of the wound made him sick to his stomach, and to be perfectly honest, it scared him a little - the idea that she had somehow hurt herself that badly… or that someone else had because Clark had failed to protect her.

The steady beat of the pencil against her leg stopped suddenly, her attention shifting from the puzzle to the surrounding passengers and to him. Darcie turned slightly, sensing his gaze on her, and stared back questioningly before she realized what he was looking at. Actual guilt flickered across her face - Clark had no idea why she should feel guilty, she was the one who was hurting, he should've felt guilty for failing to comfort or protect or at the very least stop her from doing this to herself - but she looked guilty all the same, and silently pulled the sleeves of her coat up to hide her wounded fists.

"You went out last night?" Clark asked, keeping his voice low so only her keen hearing could pick it up. She nodded slowly, nervously biting at her lip.

"I… I had earned my punishment."

Oh.

Oh, that.

Clark had nearly forgotten the incident the night before - it hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time. Unwanted sensory overloads or 'abilities' suddenly kicking in when he didn't expect them had been a normal part of his childhood, and were nothing to be ashamed of - you just carried on with life and did your best to keep yourself under control next time. Darcie, as he had already discovered, wasn't very good at letting things like that go, and had taken it upon herself to pay for her mistake - the bruised marks were still fresh from pounding rocks with her bare hands.

(Or at least he was pretty sure it was rocks and not some poor idiot's skull. Clark just hoped the specks of blood covering her scrapes was actually hers.)

"Why?" he asked in a whisper, and her shoulders tensed visibly with repressed emotions - primarily guilt, but he saw pain and fear lingering there too.

"I... hurt you, Clark. I-I don't want to hurt you."

He paused, struck speechless by the veiled compassion in her words. He didn't know much about Darcie, but he did know two things:

**A**: she was very closed off and refused to talk about anything that went on inside her head, so her statement was a little out of character. He would've expected something more along the lines of 'oh, I haven't had my weekly pub brawl so I went and got all my energy out beating up boulders instead', but this worked just as well, if not better.

And **B**: Clark was afraid of hurting her too.

She was so small and scarred and living on the run, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and her abuser. Who knew how long she had lived under another man's thumb or what horrible things had been done to her during that time? Clark still had no idea who or where she had been even five minutes before she stepped into that dirty pub and into his life - but if there was one thing he did know, it was that he wanted to never be another reason for her to barely sleep at night, to never be the cause of her panic attacks or make her tense at the thought of his name. If anything, he wanted her to feel safe with him (or as safe as a victim of abuse can feel) and he wanted her to know that not a damn soul would ever lay a finger on her again if he had anything to say about it. Not a damn soul - not even himself.

Being with her made him feel something he couldn't quite touch - a flicker of emotion that rose up in his chest whenever she was around - a feeling he hadn't felt since he'd seen his mom, his only family and his best friend, nearly a year ago.

Clark wasn't sure, but he thought it might have been affection.

Getting up out of his seat, Clark crossed the aisle to sit down beside her and silently watch her work on the sudoku puzzle, which was now clenched unused in her hands. She tensed immediately (of course she would, he should have expected that), every muscle taut in preparation to flee. She hated having people in her personal space, she loathed it with a passion, and having her main escape route blocked off worried her even more - but once again, Darcie found that Clark didn't hurt. Clark was Clark, and he was gentle and wouldn't try to stop her and would let her be if she asked. She didn't ask, because he didn't hurt. In fact, he was probably the warmest person in the entire plane, and doing a pretty good job of keeping her warm too as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

"My name is Clark Joseph Kent." he murmured, keeping his voice low enough so only she could hear him, "I was found a few miles from Smallville, Kansas on the night of June eighteenth, nineteen-eighty by Martha and Jonathan Kent. I started discovering my… 'powers' I guess, very slowly and with quite a few accidents."

Here he chuckled softly, reminiscing for a brief moment before he continued: "When I was thirteen my dad showed me the ship I had been found in. He explained what had happened, told me what little he knew about it, and gave me my shard-thing. And I've been trying to find where I came from ever since."

There it was. His life in short laid bare to a near stranger who somehow was one of the closest friends he had. It was a little frightening, to be honest - suddenly exposing those secrets his parents had struggled for _years_ to hide with only a few words - but it was also surprisingly freeing. He didn't have to hide who he was with Darcie, simply because she was exactly like him.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking up at him with newfound respect. Despite their differences in height, her face seemed so comfortably close to his, and it wasn't hard to lean in with a soft peck on her lips. Darcie blinked hard for a moment, her cheeks taking on a rosy tint as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, shooting him a hard look.

"The fuck did you do that for? That was a kiss, right?"

He chuckled, ignoring her profanity in favor of playfully nuzzling her dark hair (her shampoo smelled like mint and pine needles) and not minding the odd look he earned from a nearby passenger. "I'm not sure - do you want another one?"

She smiled - a good, warm smile - and politely shook her head 'no'.

"I think I found a word to describe you," Darcie said thoughtfully.

Clark chuckled. "What is it?"

"It's actually two words: 'Boy Scout, noun. An honest, friendly, and typically naive man'. Quoted from the New Oxford American Dictionary. And I am referring to naive as innocent - not as in having poor judgment."

Clark nodded distractedly, admittedly a little preoccupied with something other than their conversation as he stared intently at the back of her head. Gently so as not to frighten her, he lifted one of her dark locks to compare it to his own hair, examining her black strands excruciatingly.

"We have the exact same hair color," he pointed out. Darcie dismissed the statement with a shrug, already aware of the fact.

"Yeah - eye color too."

That caught him by surprise, and he gently turned her head to face him with a gentle hand on her chin, looking intensely into her eyes. She blinked, revealing the deep blue of a stormy sea flecked with gold, intelligent looking, and more attractive than he wanted to admit. Months of studying his own eyes in an attempt to discover what made him able to see so far had helped Clark memorize his iris' pattern, and he could confirm that their eyes really were the same brilliant hue of azure - though his was maybe a shade or two brighter.

"Do you think we might be related somehow?" he asked, letting her go. Darcie rubbed her jaw where he had touched her, shrugging in response before subconsciously suppressing a wince at the movement, still a bit sore from beating herself up the night before.

"It's possible - though highly unlikely. There are a lot of people out there with black hair and blue eyes."

"But not a lot who also happen to be aliens," he replied in a low voice.

She paused at that, pencil hovering over the nearly-finished sudoku as she sat deep in thought, before finally sighing an apology, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I-I can't finish it, I'm not focusing and I can't focus properly..."

She trailed off, shoulders hunched in on herself as she stared out the window at the cold grey sky enshrouding the small plane, leaving it completely isolated in the clouds. Without noticing it, Darcie settled back in her seat and leaned partly against his side, still watching the frosty window with a distant look and failing to notice when he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Tired?" Clark asked softly. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if he would dare take advantage of her show of weakness before deciding that she didn't care and nodded slowly. Somehow she knew he wouldn't hurt her or bind her or turn her in if she got a little bit of sleep, so Darcie let herself relax ever-so-slightly against his warm coat. Clark was surprised, to be perfectly honest, but in no way against it - instead, he smiled to himself, humming what he hoped was a soothing tune as she began to drift off. It wasn't long before her breathing slowed, her breaths long and even, only broken by the occasional twitch or gasp caused by a fleeting nightmare. which he would quiet with a gentle kiss on her hair.

It was definitely affection.


	10. The Reporter

And now what you've all been waiting for: the infamous Lois Lane!

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Reporter**

* * *

**Three Months Later**

Lois Lane considered herself to be an elite investigative reporter, undaunted by even the horrors of war and stopping at nothing to document the story that just might earn her a Pulitzer. That is, up until about two hours ago when she had left the luxury of a heater back at the helipad. Now she was freezing to death in the cargo hold of what the female pilot called 'a beaut', but Lois thought it looked a bit more like a Sikorsky S-61 chopper with no heating. Her thick parka and snow boots helped to retain most of her body heat and provide a degree of protection against the cold, but she still couldn't help but feel some regret that the story hadn't been somewhere warm.

Sitting in the confined compartment among the boxes of food and equipment being shipped north to the research encampment, her two duffels at her feet, she had a pretty good view out the opposite window of the ice floes dotting Ellesmere's coastline, lit only by the pale dawn farther south since the sun barely rose at this high of a latitude. They were a glaring silver against the dark water, completely barren and devoid of life, but somehow had a harsh beauty all their own. The island itself was dimly visible through the small window at her back, and every time she looked through it, she was met with miles and miles of windblown ice and snow frozen solid as far as she could see. It was pretty enough despite the low light, but cold as hell and the conversation wasn't especially lively, not to mention that all the food had to be heated.

Lois just hoped the damn story was worth it.

She did not usually pick up minor pieces like this one - scratch that, she _never_ took stories like this one. This was third-page fluff at best, just something about someone finding something of historical value and certainly nothing that would get her reporter's instincts tingling. But the moment she caught wind of the U.S. military stepping in to block almost all public access to the seemingly innocent research site, Lois knew there was nothing on Earth that could keep her away. Of course, NORTHCOM had tried and hilariously failed to retract Canada's invitation for the illustrious Lois Lane to come and write a piece on the discovery. Winning the injunction had been great at the time, but ultimately initiated the series of events that had led her to her current situation: freezing her toes off in a helicopter flying through the Arctic Circle - on Thanksgiving of all days.

"Landin' soon, Miss Lane," the pilot yelled above the roar of the engine, speaking up for the first time since they had taken off. Lois nodded that she understood and zipped her coat up a little tighter to brace herself for the wind.

Keeping her right hand on the joystick, the Arctic Cargo flyer carefully maneuvered the helicopter towards the snowy landing zone marked out with orange lamps and floodlights. The blades whirred furiously, kicking up small clouds of powdery snow as the landing skids touched down and she reduced the power to the engine. Her passenger stood up from her seat, pulling a wool hat over her strawberry-blonde locks before giving the pilot a polite nod in thanks. Lois slid open the cargo door to let herself out only to be stopped in her tracks by a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen looking up at her expectantly.

The man smiled shyly, adjusting his heavy coat with one hand before reaching up with both arms towards her. Lois hesitated a moment, unsure what he wanted before realizing that he was offering to help her down, and leaned forward enough for him to lift her out of the helicopter. The man did so with ease and carefully set her down in the snow a moment later.

"Thanks..." Lois muttered above the wind, noting the Arctic Cargo nametag on his jacket, "... Joe."

Joe Hunt simply nodded, flashing her another bright smile and pointing her towards an older man holding a flashlight a few paces away, who greeted her with an exuberant handshake before introducing himself as Eubanks.

Watching her go, Joe the Arctic Cargo employee turned back to the dark-haired airwoman in the cockpit, who happened to be going over the post-landing checklist at that moment.

"Hey."

"Hey," she replied, not looking up from the list. "Did you find anything?"

Joe glanced over his shoulder at his coworkers unloading the chopper to make sure no one was listening in before he nodded. "The ice is thinner on the north-east side of the glacier. It's still a bit far, but I think I can melt it."

The pilot didn't reply, her pen pressed to the flight notebook mid-sentence as she stared down at it with a blank look in her eyes. Sensing something was wrong, Joe touched her knee to get her attention. "Hey. Dars- I mean Sammy, are you doing okay?"

'Sammy' blinked, coming back to reality, and saw him looking up at her concernedly, still waiting for a response. She nodded quickly, replacing the checklist and notebook in their compartments. "I'm fine. That's great - about the ice I mean. When do you want to check it out?"

He grinned in response. "Once the sun sets no one will be outside, so we can leave then. I have a good feeling about this-"

"Joe!"

Jed Eubanks, the northern branch manager of Arctic Cargo, waved him over and Joe glanced back at the pilot.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked and she gave him a small smile, squeezing his gloved hand.

"I told you, I'm fine. We can talk later," she promised. Joe returned the squeeze, resisting the urge to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, and jogged over to where Eubanks and the lady journalist were conversing. Jed pointed to two duffel bags in the back of the helicopter's hold, gesturing for him to grab them.

"Take Miss Lane's bags! We're heading down to the station!" he shouted above the blustering wind. Joe nodded, moving to retrieve the baggage.

"Careful with those, they're heavy!" Miss Lane warned him, but he simply smiled and easily hefted one onto his shoulder, steadying it with his hand. Lois barely stopped herself from staring in amazement at the show of strength, quickly averting her gaze from the husky baggage handler and returned her attention to Eubanks.

"I gotta confess, Miss Lane," the branch manager was saying above the wind, "I'm not a fan of the Daily Planet, but those pieces you wrote when you were embedded with the 1st Division were mighty impressive!"

She smirked. That had been an interesting trip, certainly better than the one she was on now - but she didn't tell him that and chuckled at his reluctant praise. "Well, what can I say? I get writer's block if I'm not wearing a flak jacket."

Eubanks chortled at her witty remark and they descended down the hill to the camp, lit by hundreds of battery lamps even in the midday-dawn and overlooked by a towering wall of ice containing what Lois had already dubbed 'The Anomaly'. Not far to the east laid the Arctic Ocean, and even above the wind, she could hear waves crashing against the icy slopes.

The branch manager led her down among the makeshift buildings, greeting a few of his employees along the way to one of the large, brightly-lit insulated tents with Joe patiently following close behind, Miss Lane's bags in tow. Eventually, Jed sent him to drop the heavy duffels off somewhere before they arrived at their destination.

"The Colonel will be your main contact from now on," he informed her, his hand on the tent flap, "Though I must warn you, he can be a little… rough, to say the least."

"Believe me, Eubanks, I've dealt with some tough customers before. I'll be fine," Lois smiled confidently, and Jed shrugged.

"I'm sure you have, Miss Lane, but I'm wishing you good luck either way."

He pushed the flap open for her and Lois stepped inside the bright, insulated space. At first glance, it appeared to be a base of operations of sorts where multiple military and research personnel were typing diligently at computers. More staff were talking on phones or hastily scribbling down notes, and Lois could not help but smile at how similar it was to her bullpen back at the Daily Planet - though admittedly much colder.

"Miss Lane!" a voice barked, and she turned to find herself suddenly confronted by the man in charge.

"Colonel Hardy, U.S. Northcom," the tall officer introduced himself with a firm scowl. Lois reached out to shake his hand, only for him to purposefully ignore it and instead turn to indicate his companion, "This is Dr. Emil Hamilton, from DARPA."

The doctor, a balding, bespectacled man in his sixties with a well-kept goatee and shy demeanor gave her a bewildered smile as he was summoned from a nearby table, but at least he shook Lois' hand despite the Colonel's looming dislike.

"You're early," Hardy declared with thinly veiled annoyance as soon as the pleasantries were over, his stern military disposition clearly visible, "We were expecting you tomorrow."

Lois simply shrugged, putting her shoulders back and decided that she wasn't going to let him push her around.

"That is exactly why I showed up today." she countered curtly. "Let's get one thing straight, Colonel: the only reason I'm here is that we're on Canadian soil and unfortunately for you, the appellate court won't let you keep me away. I was _invited_, so good luck on getting your receipt to send me home - and now that we're done measuring manhoods, can you have your people show me what they found?"

Dr. Hamilton had humor enough to chuckle at her ferocity while the Colonel frowned, looking for all the world like he would rather order a firing squad to shoot her on the spot. But he was under orders, so Hardy politely refrained from doing so.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The main research center was a small building on the northern edge of the camp - a bit larger than most of the other structures, but still mostly comprised of repurposed shipping containers raised a few feet above the hard-packed snow. Once inside, Lois was introduced to more DARPA and NORTHCOM scientists, including a Staff Sergeant Sekowski - who was one of the few people in the camp seemingly unaffected by the cold and perfectly happy to show her around. Recording app at the ready, Lois listened in earnest interest as he talked about the cooperation's findings.

"NASA's EOS satellites pinged the anomaly first." he explained eagerly, tapping a few keys on his computer to bring up a sonar map of the camp's surrounding area, "The ice shelf plays hell on the echo soundings and we've had to repeat the process multiple times, but there's definitely something down there."

Another tap pulled up a sounding image of the enormous ice shelf, blurry and inarticulate, but one could still distinguish a large, streamlined anomaly among the static.

"A submarine, maybe? Soviet-era?" Lois inquired, examining the results curiously as Colonel Hardy shook his head.

"Doubtful, that thing's 300 meters long," he corrected, "Considerably larger than anything we know they built back then. Not to mention that this thing is over a hundred feet above sea level in a tidewater glacier while a sub would usually be buried in the seabed."

"Could an earthquake have moved it?" she suggested and Sekowski shrugged.

"Maybe, but that's not even the spookiest part. We ran some bore tests, and if this is correct, the ice surrounding the object…" Here he paused for dramatic effect, earning a stern glare from Hardy before continuing, "It's nearly _twenty thousand_ years old."


	11. The Discovery

A longer chapter, but an exciting one!

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Discovery**

* * *

Lois soon discovered that the only buildings in the entire research camp were either freezing tents or icy shipping containers. It was practically a miniature city run with military precision, every structure and area organized into precise blocks each with their own purpose and designation. She got the sense that NORTHCOM's presence had turned the place from a Canadian research camp into an international-co-op boot camp, but the only reason the military would be in such a warmth-and-light-forsaken place was… if they suspected something about the Anomaly.

Lois wisely kept her questions and assumptions to herself as the Colonel continued to grumpily herd her around the facilities. He made it very clear that the lady reporter was not welcome, but diligently did his job and spent the next few hours introducing her to various experts and personnel. Some of them seemed friendly enough, but they all understood the rules of classified research and under Hardy's stern eye Lois was unable to get any interesting info out of them.

Finally, dinner time came around and a camp supper was thrust into Lois' hands. She was allowed a few minutes to eat her too-hot hash and underwarmed coffee in a sparsely populated mess hall which she assumed had been set aside for the head researchers, but most had deigned to take their dinner at their desks. The moment she was finished, Lois was bustled off again by her escort to what she hoped was a warm bed.

The thought was forgotten almost immediately when she stepped outside beneath the night sky, which had darkened only slightly more than before now that the sun was gone, but now seemed brighter than ever.

High above the ice shelf with its heavy drill and meltdown generator, a shimmering curtain of blue and green and deep purple lay spread out among the stars. The rippling light show and gorgeous hues captured all of her attention, and for a brief moment, the cold was almost worth it as Lois watched the lights live up to the lilting name of Aurora Borealis. Even marred by the skyline of industrial machines, the sight was breathtaking.

"Miss Lane!" Hardy shouted above the wind, forcing her to tear her gaze away and follow the escort through the snow until they arrived at yet another steel unit.

"Here it is!" the Colonel declared with mock chivalry, opening the door with a flourish. Lois stepped inside the shipping-container apartment, which was apparently being used as a storage unit with boxes and crates stacked everywhere. A small space had been cleared near the door, containing her bags, a camp bed, a heater - and a lot of blankets. Her heart sank and she turned back to Hardy to protest, but he ignored her disappointed look.

"The rules are simple. Don't go outside after dark, and don't go anywhere without an escort. Temperatures can drop to minus forty at night out here," Hardy grinned, "We wouldn't find your body till after spring."

Lois grimaced at his joke, looking around her container and noting the distinct lack of a bathroom, replied, "What if I need to tinkle?"

"There's a bucket in the corner," he answered with a smirk, stepping back out into the cold and slamming the steel door shut behind him. Alone, she turned back to her disappointing quarters and sighed, a smile growing on her lips now that he was finally gone. No babysitters meant there was no one to stop her from doing some more investigating.

Grabbing her camera bag from one of the duffels, Lois carefully retrieved her prized Nikon D3S Digital SLR and its equally expensive kit - a wonderful set that had captured more than a few images of her more dangerous articles. It only took her a matter of minutes to lay out and assemble the flash and focus lens, then a few more to pull on an additional layer of winter gear. Now sporting an extra pair of socks, a third sweater, and a thick scarf on top of her parka and snow pants, Lois sat down on her camp bed to wait. Her patience was already thin, but she wisely took the precaution of waiting an extra twenty minutes for whatever watchmen might still be around to retreat to warmer places.

Finally deciding she had wasted enough time, Lois slipped out into the freezing night.

It wasn't quite forty below, but with the chill wind blowing around her, it sure felt close. Lois shivered as she zipped her parka up as much as it would go, secretly grateful for her long underwear as she made her way to the edge of the camp situated nearest the ice shelf. Finding a good angle for a page-image of the shelf and its Anomaly was easy enough - there wasn't a spot in the entire area not overshadowed by the glacier.

Lois adjusted and aimed her camera to capture the action going on above her. The meltdown generator and drill were perched on top of the ice, lit by a series of floodlights as they continued to work at a steady rate through the night. Even going at this pace, Lois remembered the DARPA eggheads had estimated that it would take at least another two days before they reached their target beneath the shelf.

Lois pressed the shutter a few times, snapping some shots that would hopefully turn out better than the ones from her last trip, and shaded the screen to examine them.

The first image was pretty good, considering it was late at night and her fingers were numb, and the rest seemed all just as well until she reached the last one. A light spot where there should have been only dark rock caught her eye and she zoomed in on the image. Thank god for focus lenses that allowed her to make out the barely distinguishable outline of one - no, two people walking on the stony ridge along the ice shelf. It was too fuzzy to determine their gender, but she could tell neither were wearing winter gear and were seemingly oblivious to the cold, unlike her.

"Where the hell are you going?" she muttered, glancing up at the ridge where her camera had spotted them, but to her disappointment could see no sign of the mysterious pair. Maybe they were workers going up to check on the rig? If so, why hadn't they used the lift constructed specifically for that purpose - and how on Earth could they walk around at night without so much as a parka? Lois didn't need to stop to wonder if the simple lead was worth following up - her reporter's instincts were tingling like crazy. She was on to a story, and she was going to catch it.

Shoving her Nikon back in its bag, she headed towards the base of the rock slope, passing her "cabin" conveniently situated near the edge of the camp. Lois managed to easily slip away unnoticed by the few guards still out, and start an ascent over the snow-covered boulders against the cold shelf.

The wind was not as fierce in the shelter of the glacier, but it was strong enough that she knew she would have to be quick on their trail if she wanted to keep up before it blew away any tracks. It was nearly impossible to move fast on the slippery rocks, and Lois was forced to hike carefully along the ridge for nearly twenty minutes before she reached the place where the pair had last been seen. To her growing confusion and delight, she found a near-invisible path of snowy footprints leading towards a treacherous brink of terrain with the Arctic Ocean crashing just below. Lois pulled her woolen hat farther over her ears, swallowed her fear, and pressed on.

The tracks went out onto daunting precipices where snowy stone turned to slippery ice, and she was forced to inch along with her back pressed against the glacier, balancing precariously in the dim light. Hardy had been right about the freezing temperatures - and to make it worse, the meltdown generator's bright light atop the ice shelf didn't shine here. The tracks were faint, and she often thought she had lost them altogether or maybe had never seen them at all - by now, Lois was seriously considering turning back and returning to her container. Despite all this, she urged herself to go a little farther to see what was around the corner, and soon her perseverance was rewarded.

Before her lay a tunnel in the ice - perfectly round and just tall enough for a shortish someone to enter without having to stoop. Rivulets of meltwater flowed down the smooth sides to join a small stream that trickled out around her boots, and she grimaced at the cold water. The tunnel looked like another excavation site - but there was no way for machinery to be hauled out here or traces of drill marks on the slick walls.

Through the darkness in the depths of the long hole, she thought she could see a ruby glow, though considering how cold it was, it could easily be her eyes freezing over. Lois blinked a few times, and to her surprise, the red light stayed. She grabbed her flashlight from her coat pocket and turned it on before hesitantly stepping inside. Despite her fears about being trapped in the ice as a long-dead reporter popsicle, Lois reminded herself that she had come too far to stop now.

"C'mon, Lo - you've got this." she muttered to herself, "Let's see what they're up to."

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The seemingly impermeable wall of ice melted under her gaze, eyes bright like two red suns as she carved the tunnel deeper into the glacier. Ocularly concentrating solar heat to a fixed beam always gave her a pounding headache, but she gritted her teeth and did not let it show as she carried on. Despite her efforts to hide it, Clark somehow noticed the set of her jaw and touched her arm to get her attention.

"Headache?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low in the echoing tunnel. Darcie nodded reluctantly and closed her eyes to cut off the beam, rubbing her temples to relieve the pain. Clark patted her shoulder affectionately as he took the lead and continued the work while she followed close behind.

The freshly carved and dripping passage was almost entirely dark except for the ruby glow of what Clark had playfully dubbed 'heat-vision' - and the freezing temperatures did not help much either. Darcie constantly found herself reaching for her knife, hesitantly allowing her hearing to move past the normal range only to be suddenly overwhelmed by the creaking of the ice and crashing of the waves, and pull back to a more comfortable level of stimulation. The heat-vision was not the only cause of her headache - hypertension and nerves played a significant role as well, but she vehemently refused to reach out to the farmboy in front of her for any comfort he might give.

The ice before them suddenly cracked with a sound like a gunshot, and instinct pulled her to step protectively in front of him while Clark put a stabilizing hand on the ceiling of the tunnel. Both tensed at the sound, waiting for someone to come running at the noise or for the glacier to collapse on top of them.

For a long moment, nothing happened - then the ice cracked again before collapsing completely, the shaft opening up into an enormous cavern hollowed out of the frozen snow. Clark blinked the fiery heat vision from his eyes, and suddenly found himself staring up at Ellsemere's 'Anomaly'.

It appeared to be a ship of some sort - the kind that sailed through the skies and not the sea. The craft looked nothing like any rocket he had ever seen on Earth, but more extraterrestrial in design. It's majestically rounded form possessed the same naturalistic design as the small single-passenger craft his parents had found him in, and it was encased in frozen water like some long-forgotten alien crab, albeit on a much more colossal scale. The resemblance to the vessel that had brought him to Earth was unmistakable, confirmed by the strong connection he felt to the anomaly. Mild euphoria rose in his chest at the sight of it - the same feeling he had gotten when he had met Darcie only a few months before. Clark couldn't decide if he was terrified or thrilled, or a strange mixture of both.

His companion was a little less stuck in awe of their discovery, already picking her way across the cave to examine its sloping hull. He jogged after her, catching up just as she reached out to touch the smooth side of the forgotten giant. The warmth of her hand melted through the thin layer of frost coating the outside and uncovered a streak of darker organic metal.

Darcie glanced up at him beside her, a tinge of fearful excitement glowing in her gaze as they both bent down to wipe away the ship's wintry shroud. Within moments the sweeping strokes of a hauntingly familiar glyph within a five-sided shield was revealed, and she stepped back in amazement as her hand went to the spike beneath her shirt.

"It's the same," he muttered, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall, already aware of what she was thinking because he was thinking it too. The sigil on the craft matched the one adorning their mysterious spikes - once again confirming the strange connection they felt to the place.

Darcie sprang into action, wiping the hull free of its frost coat, quickly joined by her companion as more sweeping glyphs and signs appeared beneath their hands. Following the intricate lines over the exposed vessel with fervent interest, they soon discovered a round crack on the lower side. They only paused for a moment before excavating more, crouching down to trace the circular gap of what appeared to be a closed door.

"I think I can force it open," Clark spoke up and she nodded, stepping back to let him put his shoulder against the plate and push upwards. The ice that had permeated the chink snapped and gave way, the whole ship seeming to creak ominously as Clark grunted from exertion and the door was forced aside. The pair peered inside the dim and silent starship, each hesitant to enter the unknown extraterrestrial craft until Darcie decided to lead the way and climbed inwards. Clark hesitated a moment, a little wary of what might be lurking inside, but shoved his fears aside and followed close behind her.

The dim interior sent a chill down his spine, the unearthly yet somehow familiar organic design of ribbed and rounded halls accented with flowing lines drawing them deeper inside. It was like entering the husk of some mammoth molluscan creature fossilized in the ice, but at the same time could be understood as nothing but strange otherworldly tech, lightyears beyond anything humans had created. It was alien - just like them.

"I can't see through the walls," Darcie spoke up, her voice echoing through the corridor, and he smiled to himself, glad that she was attempting to use the skills he'd taught her and been so reluctant to try after the heat vision incident. But sure enough, the starship was impenetrable to his gaze throughout the entire electromagnetic spectrum.

He shook his head as his vision shifted back to visible light, "Maybe it's blocking our powers?"

"No, I can still hear your heartbeat." she pointed out, "And I think there's another-"

Both of them jumped back in surprise with Darcie automatically assuming a fighting position as a waist-high pillar seemed to fold out of the wall. It crackled with age and cold, emanating a low hum and glowing with an inner blue light shining through a small hole in its angled top. Curious and figuring that it couldn't be too dangerous since it hadn't attacked them yet, Clark stepped towards it and bent down to observe the orifice, immediately noting that something about its shape seemed oddly familiar.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked, running his thumb over the opening, "I feel like I've seen it before…"

Darcie appeared beside him, leaning over to survey it with her head tilted slightly in the way he had learned meant she was either in deep thought or listening for something. She considered the port for a moment before shrugging. "It looks like a keyhole of some sort. Try your spike…"

She trailed off mid-sentence, listening again, but Clark didn't seem to notice and nodded in agreement. He was in the act of pulling the shoestring necklace out from beneath his shirt when a low whirring combined with the absence of Darcie beside him caught his attention. Clark glanced over his shoulder to see what appeared to be a hovering droid descend from the ceiling and move sedately closer to the pair. The thing looked like a cobra's head swaying gently midair, seemingly made of the same petrified metal as the surrounding ship, yet decorated with more flowing glyphs on its front. It observed the intruders inquisitively as it approached Darcie, letting out a low droning sound as it spread its hood in what could only be a threatening position.

"Clark," Darcie said in a low voice, trying to back away from it. He noted that her spike was gripped between the fingers of her right hand, ready to be used to shank the droid if it came to a fight. Neither moved, waiting to see what would do as a long whip-like tail extended from its base and the droning rose in pitch.

"Clark," Darcie repeated his name for what little strength it gave her, never taking her eyes off the robot as she instructed him, "Put your spike in the port. Now."

He yanked sharply on the knot holding the pendant, snapping the shoestring as he grasped the spike in his hand and the droid immediately went on offense. Clark was aware of Darcie jumping between him and the hissing whip, but he did not have time to protest as she took the brunt of the blow and he lunged for the keyhole.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her drawing the sentry's attention away from him, grabbing its sparking tail to yank the main body towards her. She managed to place a powerful kick square on its sensors, followed by a series of lightning-fast punches a moment before he inserted his key as far as it would go. It fit perfectly, the port thrumming in response as the rest of the starship lit up.

The damaged sentry struggled for a moment longer, still intent on dissuading the intruders before it froze, the security system recognizing the key and allowing access to the newcomers. Darcie growled deep in her throat as it retracted its hood and tail out of her grasp, still eying it warily as it hovered lazily nearby, but deemed it to no longer be a threat and turned to glance back at Clark.

"It worked." she panted softly, wiping a stray lock from her forehead, and he nodded, "That must mean we're…"

"…connected to this ship." she finished, looking up at the grand ribbed arches above them when Clark spotted the fresh blood on her lower back where the sentry had struck her.

"You're bleeding." he pointed out and she turned to glance at the wound, noticing the laceration for the first time. Darcie simply nodded and wiped at it with the corner of her shirt.

"It's nothing. I heal fast."

He was about to protest, but the withering glare she was shooting the robotic sentry made him rethink arguing.

A flicker of movement on the outskirts of his field of vision caught his attention. Darcie noticed it too as they both swiveled around to confront the robot again, but only caught a glimpse of a bearded figure retreating into a nearby corridor.

"Hello?" Clark called out, his voice echoing in the cold hall, but no one replied.

As usual, Darcie was already in the lead, chasing after the mysterious figure only to discover the long hallway was completely empty. Her companion close behind, a soft noise beckoned them deeper into the cold ship and teased them with glimpses of the mysterious man. The figure led them on until they reached an open room with vaulted ceilings and one wall made entirely of some sort of alien glass frosted over by the glacier. Various cracked consoles and a single captain's seat confirmed that this was the bridge of the vast craft.

Clark reached out to dust off one of the instrument panels when his wrist was intercepted by Darcie's surprisingly strong grip as she tilted her head inquisitively. "Do you hear that?"

He paused to listen, but could not pick up much besides the creaking of the old ship and Darcie beside him.

"Your hearing is a lot more sensitive than mine." he pointed out after a moment, calmly releasing himself from her grip as she turned to glance back in the direction they'd come.

"There's a heartbeat," she said after a long few seconds, and tilted her head again to try to pinpoint it.

"Where?"

"I'm not sure. The ship echoes and distorts the sound, but it seems to be coming from near where we broke in."

Both locked gazes as they simultaneously remembered the active security sentry and the likelihood that it would attack any unexpected visitors. The hunt for the mysterious figure abandoned, the two explorers rushed back to rescue the ignorant soul.


	12. The Anomaly

**Chapter 12: The Anomaly**

* * *

Lois blinked and the spaceship was still there.

She blinked again, fully expecting it to disappear and for her to wake up back in her container apartment down in the camp, or even better, her bedroom back in Metropolis - but to her growing surprise, it stayed put.

Of all the things that could possibly be buried in a glacier on Ellesmere, the anomaly she had happened to stumble upon was from outer space.

Five minutes ago, she could have sworn that after all her years as a traveling reporter and army brat that nothing would be able to surprise her anymore, but this…

This was an honest-to-goodness goddamn alien spaceship.

She wasn't just there for a page-three article anymore, or even front page. This was the biggest story in human history, and the open door in the starcraft's hull was practically screaming for her to investigate more. It was the opportunity and scoop of a lifetime, and she wasn't about to pass it up, so it was with little hesitation that Lois climbed inside.

The first thing she noticed was the awe-inspiring naturalistic structure, and the second was how annoyingly cold she was. Lois pushed that thought aside to concentrate on working her camera with numb fingers, raising it to capture what could possibly be the first real picture of an extraterrestrial ship. The flash reflected off the ribbed arching walls made of some alien material and the glint of metal caught her eye.

A metallic snake-like something was hovering a few meters off to her left - not doing anything, just watching her. She inched closer and raised her camera again, wondering if it was some sort of alien, then dismissed the idea as the whirring of servomotors seemed too technological to be alive. Even so, it only added to her story of a lifetime and practically guaranteed her a Pulitzer. Her editor would be thrilled.

The probably-a-robot continued to face her (if the sweeping pattern that looked like some sort of language on one side could be considered its front), spreading a cobra-like hood as Lois smiled and clicked the shutter.

The camera flashed as an electrified tail shot out from the robot's base and violently lashed out at her. The force of the blow threw her off her feet and against a wall, crushing her camera in the process, and Lois screamed in pain. Agony burned in her side like liquid fire as she clutched at the wound and sagged against the bulkhead. Panting hard, she had no time to be upset about the Nikon that had come to grief as she struggled to crawl away from the robotic guard closing in.

Sparks shot from its whip-like tail as it raised it in preparation for the killing blow, and Lois came to the sudden realization that she'd finally found something too dangerous for her to work her way out of. This was the end of Lois Joanne Lane, elite investigative reporter for the Daily Planet, who died fighting a freaking alien robot of all things. This definitely deserved the best obituary her editor, Perry White, could come up with.

The sentry's whirring grew louder as it lunged towards her when a dark-haired young woman suddenly appeared behind it. In an instant, she had grabbed its cobra-like hood and forcibly shoved the mechanical sentry into a wall away from Lois, the stranger's eyes flickering with red fire as she crushed it beneath her fists. Lois didn't stop to wonder who she was or where she'd come from, instead taking advantage of the young woman's distraction to painfully stagger to her feet and sprint for the nearest hallway. Her legs gave out beneath her almost as soon as she stood up and Lois was dimly aware of stumbling before something strong and warm broke her fall. She screamed again, trying to get up and out of its grasp so that she could make her escape, but only managed to flail weakly against the man's chest.

"It's all right, it's all right!" he assured her, and Lois stopped struggling to look up at the man, recognizing Joe, the husky baggage handler for Arctic Cargo. She wondered if he was actually more handsome up close or if it was just her losing consciousness as she let out a low moan of agony.

"It's all right," he repeated again, hoping to calm her ragged breathing. Lois gasped in pain, looking down at her gloved hand as she pulled it away from her wounded side. Her parka was scorched and torn where the alien robot had struck her, blood seeping from the gash staining the material a dark crimson. She felt Joe tense at the sight before he swallowed and winced sympathetically as he gently lowered her to the floor, helping her lean back against the curving bulkhead and meeting her gaze with a questioning look, one hand on her stomach.

"I won't hurt you," he promised in a soft voice, "I just want to check the wound."

Lois blinked, confused, then realized that he was asking for permission to remove her coat. She managed a small nod of assent, inwardly chuckling at just how fine a gentleman the mysterious baggage handler had turned out to be.

Joe, as promised, was extremely gentle as he opened her parka and carefully folded back part of her sweater to get a better look at the laceration, though he did seem to pale at the sight of her blood. Lois was in too much pain to ask the million questions spinning around in her head - foremost being how on Earth he had gotten into the spaceship, but she knew well enough to avoid asking how bad it was when Joe shook his head at the growing stain on her sweater.

"Darcie!" he called out, glancing back at the fiery-eyed young woman. She had finally overcome the alien sentry, which was now a pulped mass of metal in her hands, and Darcie's eyes dimmed back to normal as her head came up at her name.

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" the man asked, and 'Darcie' nodded as she approached them. Lois mentally noted that they looked like they could be twins, if it weren't for Joe's handsome five o'clock shadow.

The young woman squinted a little as she knelt down, her eyes narrowing in concentration as if she was looking past the skin to examine Lois' insides. For a long moment, all was quiet except for the reporter's haggard breathing, and she was about to ask what 'Darcie' was doing when the woman looked up to meet her gaze.

"Internal hemorrhaging. It's Class One right now, going on Class Two, but it will progress quickly if we cannot stop the bleeding. The hypovolemic shock will kick in-"

"How can you..." Lois gasped, barely managing not to moan at the pain caused by simply breathing.

The young woman glanced at Joe, who returned the look with a small smile as he answered, "We can do things other people can't."

Lois wasn't surprised considering that Darcie had crushed a bloodthirsty robot with her bare hands only a few minutes ago, then it dawned on her. This was their ship. The super-human strength, the glowing eyes, the x-ray vision, they weren't… human.

She panicked for a moment as the thought of being abducted and dissected alive flashed through her mind, but the gentleness with which Joe squeezed her hand to reassure her that everything would turn out fine promised that a harsh alien death wasn't on the horizon. Still, despite her best efforts Lois couldn't manage to calm her labored breathing, and with each passing moment the darkness that threatened to pull her under loomed closer.

"Is she going to be okay?" Joe was asking his companion, concern showing in his clear blue eyes as he glanced down at Lois, swallowing nervously at the blood on her sweater. Darcie frowned.

"She's bleeding heavily, though I think if it can be cauterized, she'll survive until she can be brought to a hospital."

She looked down at her patient, "This is going to hurt."

Lois wasn't sure if it was a hallucination caused by the blood loss, but she could have sworn the veins around the young woman's eyes began to darken when Joe gave her a questioning look, "You're not going to..."

"Have you got any better ideas?" Darcie asked sharply, her eyes returning to normal.

Joe simply shook his head before sighing, "At least let me do it, I've got more experience."

Darcie reluctantly backed down as Joe took both of Lois' hands in his, flashing her another small, shy smile. She noted that he had worker's hands - strong, worn, but tenderly gentle as he clasped her palms while Darcie folded back the parka to allow them a better view of the wound.

Before Lois could ask how they planned to cauterize her injury without any apparent medical equipment, Joe's eyes darkened and his pupils began to glow like burning coals. It hit her again that these two people were goddamn aliens - of course they would have laser vision, how could they not with her dying and all.

Lois chuckled at the thought, then shrieked when she suddenly realized it wasn't a hallucination. The ruby beams of hot fire actually hurt when Joe used his gaze to seal the wound, and it was only the young woman's hands pinning her to the floor that kept Lois from writhing in excruciating pain. She dimly remembered screaming in sheer agony and welcoming the darkness as oblivion took hold to free her from the brief suffering. The last thing Lois saw before passing out was Joe's kind face smiling down at her like she was going to be okay.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Sergeant Sekowski's head nodded down onto his chest, the late hour catching up on him. He had been monitoring the monitors for the past four hours, and it was quite possibly the most boring job on the entire site, but at least it gave him some time to nap. His eyes drooped and he snored gently, his feet propped up on the desk in front of him while the screens continued to watch the ice.

The shaking was gentle at first, a barely perceptible rumbling under the hum of the computers. Sensor ARC85-73 picked it up first, alerting the oblivious Sekowski with a keening alarm and causing him to open one eye. ARC53-02 went off, indicating that the tremors were becoming more violent, and Sekowski sat up quickly. The earthquake was quickly becoming stronger, triggering an entire slew of alarms that blared with increasing levels of intensity, but the man was already sprinting for the door. He hurriedly pulled on his coat and rushed down the steps of the research center, his first thought being to find Dr. Hamilton, or even the Colonel.

An odd tremor sent him tumbling over his boots into the snow and Sekowski lifted his head to stare up at the heaving ice shelf. More officers were rushing out of their steel cabins and tents to discover the source of the disturbance, all of them watching in a mix of awe and terror as the ice drill snapped from its anchors and toppled over. Colonel Hardy was among them, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the drill's beacon light while the ever-present Hamilton stood beside him with his jaw dropped at the sight.

A huge dark shape slowly rose out of the crumbling ice, hovering for a few moments above the disintegrating shelf. For those few moments, the occupants of the camp below got a good long look at Ellesmere's Anomaly before it vanished into the night sky, leaving them dumbfounded as to what they had just seen.

Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn't a submarine.


	13. The Ship

The chapter is slightly shorter than usual, but a very important one.

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Ship**

* * *

Clark watched the small iceberg receding in the night as the ship ascended, Lois' still form a dark spot against the white snow where he'd arranged her as comfortably as possible in plain sight of any passing rescue vehicles. He sighed, promising himself he'd done the right thing despite his unusual reluctance to leave the gorgeous reporter on her own.

"She'll be fine," came a familiar voice behind him as the bay doors closed shut of their own volition, and Clark turned around to face her.

"Are you sure? Hypothermia-"

"She'll be fine," Darcie repeated firmly, "The patrol helicopters pass directly over this area, and there is no way they could miss her. A rescue team will get here within hours."

He nodded reluctantly in agreement, earning an odd look from her which he brushed away with another question, "Where do you think the ship is taking us?"

The ship in question had taken its first flight in thousands of years only the night before, assumedly after it had overheard its two passengers discussing what to do with Miss Lane and the ancient starcraft.

Clark had mentioned trying to fly the ship to somewhere secluded where humans were less likely to wander in and get hurt, and only moments later the engines thrummed in response to his words. It didn't take long for them to figure out that the ship took vocal commands from Clark (it refused to listen to Darcie, probably because it was Clark's key that was powering the craft). After returning to the bridge and a good half-an-hour of experimentation, Clark ordered the ship to break free from the glacier and fly south-east.

Darcie gave him directions to the flightpath of the military and cargo helicopters that kept the Ellesmere camp well supplied, and after another hour of searching in the dark for a suitable spot and figuring out how to get the damn ship to land, Miss Lane was safely deposited well in sight of any passerbys.

The reporter had remained mostly unconscious throughout the flight, only groggily waking up when the ship had broken out of the glacier, causing Darcie to panic briefly and hit Lois' neck in what was apparently a 'nerve strike' and 'perfectly harmless if done correctly' to send her back to sleep. Clark, after getting over his horror and surprise that Darcie had managed to knock her out with one hit, had simply nodded and made sure that her coat was zipped up tight against the cold before gently scooping the unconscious woman up in his arms. He noted that she smelled faintly of cherries and wool, and she slept with her lips slightly parted, almost like she was waiting for a kiss. He had tried not to think about that as he carefully laid her down in the snow on the iceberg, scooping out a shallow depression for her to lay at least partly out of the wind.

Clark had been aware of Darcie watching him from the ship as he made sure the reporter was comfortable, but he was reluctant to leave her on her own in the open like this. Deep down, he knew she would be just fine and that every moment he stayed was another where she might wake up and interrogate him again in her way he had found bemusedly interesting. He had liked talking to her, even if it was in a life-or-death situation, and part of him hoped she'd wake up just so they could talk again.

She hadn't, and Clark was forced to return to the ship, sighing to himself as he stepped inside.

"Let's get out of here," he'd muttered to Darcie, to which she had simply nodded as the ship responded to the command.

They had been in flight for a few minutes now, but still had no idea where they were going or what intentions the semi-sentient spacecraft had for them.

"I'm not sure," Darcie replied to his earlier question of their destination, cocking her head to the side as if listening, "What about the man?"

"The one we saw earlier?"

She nodded, listening again, and Clark followed suit, both scanning the ship for any sound that might be out of place, but neither could detect even a footfall that wasn't theirs.

"No heartbeats besides ours," Clark stated after a moment, wondering where on Earth the mysterious figure had disappeared to. Darcie nodded in agreement and turned to head back deeper into the ship when he called after her. "Where are you going?"

"The ship is going somewhere, but neither of us are piloting it. I'm going back to the cockpit to see if I can figure out where it's taking us," came the reply. He nodded, watching her leave as he stood there a few moments longer before making up his mind and setting off to explore the rest of the craft.

Wandering through the smooth extraterrestrial passageways, Clark came across many closed doorways and pods embedded in the walls, flowing with the naturalistic design of the ship. He absently wondered if his command of the ancient craft extended to unlocking various rooms, but he didn't dwell on it long.

His exploration uncovered another vein-like hall splitting off from the main one, and out of curiosity, he followed it until the passage widened into a large vaulted chamber. A wall of glass gave him a clear view into an enormous tank of some sort, filled with a luminous clear liquid in which feathery branches of some alien kelp swayed gently in the current. On the slim branches budded empty golden globules that seemed to glow with an inner light, far different from any seaweed he had ever seen, yet somehow familiar in an odd way. The room reminded him of some sort of hydroponic garden or a kelp forest like he'd seen at an aquarium as a kid, but he had no time to question its purpose further when he felt the ship lurch slightly as it landed. Clark realized Darcie must have figured out how to control the ship manually, and began to make his way to the bridge to join her.

He found the room easily enough - nearly every passage led to it eventually - and as expected he also found Darcie within, intently observing the various control panels that were flashing some alien text as the engines powered down.

'Recursive diagnostics complete.' a sleek, feminine voice stated as Clark entered the chamber, 'Guiding presence authenticated. All systems operational.'

Across the room, Darcie nodded in acknowledgment of the message. She was standing in front of the wide panel of windows that were now looking out over a snow-covered plateau, her gaze trained on the distant horizon where indigo sky met silver mountains. The clouds were just beginning to lighten in the south, but Clark doubted it would get much lighter than a hazy twilight as was typical for winter in the Arctic Circle.

"Where are we?" he asked, coming to stand beside her, and she shrugged stiffly in reply.

"A good ways farther north and west of Alert, I think - though I could be wrong."

"Didn't you land the ship?"

"No," she shook her head, glancing up at him for the first time, "It landed itself."

Before he could ask how that was possible, a soft baritone interrupted him, "Kal."

The voice caught him by surprise, and Darcie too as she went into what he could now only think of as her 'Battle Mode'. Her eyes flashed bright with solar fire as she twisted around to crouch protectively in front of him, the pale winter stars glinting off the steel of the hunting knife clasped in her right hand.

The man she was threatening to attack seemed completely unfazed, but his brown eyes smiled softly as if amused or affectionate. He stood a few feet away from the pair and was wearing a textured robe of alien leather over a navy blue skinsuit embossed with a curving shield over his chest, and his neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of wisdom. Clark recognized him as the man he had caught a glimpse of when they first entered the ship, the man who didn't have a heartbeat, but looking at him now he could tell why. Though he looked solid enough, the man shimmered and seemed to flicker in and out of reality when he stepped into the light, combined with the fact that he made no sound except for his voice indicated that he was some sort of complex three-dimensional hologram. Clark put a calming hand on Darcie's shoulder to hopefully keep her from attacking, and addressed the stranger.

"Who are you?" he questioned, keeping his tone polite, but there was a subtle hardness in his voice. The hologram didn't appear to have any harmful intentions towards them, but Clark got the sense that they should tread carefully.

"I am your father, Kal." the man answered with a soft smile, gently abating the pair's wariness of him before his joy faded regretfully, "Or at least a shadow of him, his consciousness if you will. My name was Jor-El."

"And Kal?" Clark gestured to himself, understanding washing over him. "That's my name."

Jor-El nodded, his proud smile returning.

"Kal-El," he corrected gently, "It is."


	14. The Last

**Chapter 14: The Last**

* * *

This was it. This was everything he had been looking for ever since the day Clark had discovered that he was not born on Earth. When he had entered the ship, he hadn't expected to meet any live aliens of any sort - and now of all the things he could have discovered, Clark had stumbled upon the key to every question he had ever asked about his origins. The man in front of him (hologram, more like), Jor-El, was his biological father and could answer every single one of his questions. The realization was overwhelming, to say the least, but it filled Clark with joy at the idea that he could finally understand who he really was.

Darcie wasn't as stunned by the epiphany, still eyeing the hologram warily as Jor-El observed her, but at least she had put the knife away.

"My databases do not recognize you, but the ship's bio-scans confirm you are both Kryptonian, yet you can't be much older than twenty Solar cycles," Jor-El declared thoughtfully, before asking, "What is your given name?"

Darcie seemed a little taken aback, "I… I was hoping you would know. And what do you mean by Kryptonian?"

Jor-Еl smiled as if approving of the question.

"You came from Krypton - a planet with a much harsher environment than Earth's, orbiting the red star Rao," he stated, "We were an advanced civilization, dedicating ourselves to broadening our knowledge of the cosmos. Thousands of scout ships were sent out to establish research outposts and forge alliances, and for millennia Krypton flourished. But years of space travel had exhausted our natural resources, and as a result, our planet's core became unstable.

"Our military leader, General Zod, attempted a coup in order to overthrow the ruling Council and take the steps necessary to restore stability to Krypton. But by then it was too late."

Here he paused for a moment, Jor-El's hologram seemingly overwhelmed with emotion as he faced his son, "Your mother and I foresaw the coming calamity, and we took certain steps to ensure your survival. Krypton died not long after, and to my knowledge, only you escaped.

"That was twenty-seven solar cycles ago," he continued, turning to Darcie, "You could not have been born yet."

"Then how am I here?" she challenged, and Clark noted that she was gripping her hunting knife again, wary that the hologram might not be trustworthy. Jor-El seemed unperturbed by the veiled threat and observed her contemplatively.

"It is possible that one of the research outposts survived after the collapse," he announced after a few moments, "Your genetic sequence is young and not recorded in Krypton's Registry of Citizens, but it does carry the bloodlines of the Houses of El and Do- "

"Wait a minute, you can see her DNA?" Clark cut in, and his father's consciousness shook his head.

"The sentry managed to obtain a blood sample when you entered the ship," Jor-El replied calmly before addressing Darcie, "Is it possible that you were sent here with a Command Key? It may help determine your origin and planet of birth."

A brief flicker of confusion crossed her face before she realized what he was asking for and reached for the silver spike hidden beneath her shirt. Darcie was reluctant to give it up, but she hesitated for only a moment before inserting it into a port Jor-El indicated in the console beside them.

She stepped back to stand beside Clark as the cracked and frozen screens lit up, lines of alien language flickering to life. Jor-El calmly scanned each one before coming to a conclusion, "Your Key appears to belong to an Eminence and contains the records of Outpost 0164, Class Artisan, located on a macro-moon in the Draeth system."

"An outpost," Clark repeated thoughtfully, "You were explorers."

His father nodded in confirmation, smiling softly.

"Long ago, in an era of expansion, our race spread through the stars in search of new worlds to settle upon. This scout ship..," he declared, indicating the ancient starcraft around them, "...was one of thousands launched into the void. Outposts were constructed on other planets using great machines to reshape the environment to our needs. These places of exploration were the focus of our civilization - that is until artificial population control was established. The outposts and space exploration were abandoned in favor of a protected way of life.

"It was believed that the remaining outposts had died or were destroyed after being cut off from Krypton, though it seems one must have survived if you are here," he nodded to Darcie before indicating her Key in the glowing port, "This Command Key is listed as belonging to an Eminence Var-El, the community's scientific leader. As an Eminence, he had access to the outpost's records, and this Key contains his personal copy along with his access codes to various levels of security and the outpost's Registry of Citizens. One of the most recent entries is for the birth of a 'Jaora Var-El', daughter of Var - her genetic code appears to be an exact match for yours."

Darcie blinked, silently taking in the rush of information and looking a bit overwhelmed as she glanced between Clark and Jor-El, before finally asking the pivotal question, "If the outpost survived… why was I sent to Earth?"

"You may have been sent to avoid famine. The community appears to have been low on nutritional resources, and the population was decreasing almost every day," Kal's father explained gently, "The Registry lists Var-El among the fatalities."

"What about my mother?" she asked, her face betraying no emotion, but Clark was familiar with the way she set her shoulders back as if facing a firing squad, and knew she expected the worst. Jor-El, unfortunately, confirmed it.

"Eminence Var-El was not joined under Rao, though there is an entry in the Registry for a Kara Lin-Do who died in childbirth the same hour of your birth."

"But there might be other survivors, right?" Clark asked urgently, "Some of them were still alive when she was sent away. Maybe they're-"

"They're dead."

He turned around to face Darcie, who was staring blankly at the floor with abject certainty before looking up to meet his gaze, "They're dead, Clark. I am the only survivor."

Clark shook his head, realization washing over him.

"No. No, that would mean that we're..."

He trailed off, and his father's image nodded in affirmation.

"You are the last children of Krypton." Jor-El stated solemnly, "But not without good reason. Come. There is something you should see."

The hologram exited the ancient starship's bridge and the two survivors followed close behind as he led them through the cavernous passageways. Clark kept a close eye on Darcie, a little worried that the shock of the news might finally catch up to her in some unexpected way, but her expression remained disarmingly neutral - though her shoulders were visibly tauter than usual. So many revelations, so many questions answered and new ones brought to light, he couldn't blame her as he was barely taking it in himself.

Jor-El led them down a familiar passage, his steady footsteps making no noise as he turned to enter an open doorway. The moment he stepped inside, Clark recognized the room as the one containing the wide tank holding what seemed to be a kelp forest, but now he understood that it must have a more important purpose than decoration.

"This is a Genesis Chamber," his father explained, gazing up at the gently swaying fronds, "After the Genetic Revolution, all Kryptonians were conceived in chambers such as this - every child was designed and grown to fulfill a predetermined role in our society.

"Your mother and I believed that Krypton had lost something precious then: the element of choice, of chance. What if a child dreamed of becoming something other than what society had intended for him or her? What if a child aspired to something greater?" he questioned softly, turning to Kal, "As Krypton's first natural birth in centuries, you were the embodiment of our belief. That is why we risked so much to save you."

"Why didn't you come with me?" his son asked, his gaze moving from the empty golden globules floating within the chamber to his father, who seemed to pause and contemplate the question.

"We loved you, Kal, and we desperately wanted to - but your freedom was paramount in our minds," he answered finally, "Your mother, Lara, and I, wanted you to forge your own path for yourself outside of Krypton's cultural restraints. We wanted you to be free to make your own choices, mistakes, and victories - not have them forced upon you. Our survival would have done so."

The palpable silence that lingered after his words left a lump in Clark's throat, joined by an uncomfortable sense of dread that only increased when Darcie spoke up for the first time since leaving the bridge.

"So we're alone," she said softly to herself, and Jor-El shook his head consolingly.

"You are as much children of Earth as you are of Krypton," he mused, moving past them to exit the room and lead the pair down another winding passage as he spoke, "You can embody the best of both worlds - a dream Kal's mother and I dedicated our lives to preserve.

"The people of Earth are different from us, but I believe that to be a good thing as they will not make the same mistakes we did. Not if you guide them. Not if you give them hope," Jor-El continued, pausing in his tracks to turn towards a recess in the passage wall. The two survivors followed his gaze to the familiar five-sided shield and winding insignia meticulously carved there - the same emblem that had led them to the ancient starship.

"The crest of the House of El means hope," Kal's father stated softly, " Our hope is the belief that every person has the potential to be a force for good."

At a wave of his hand, the crest seemed to unfold from the wall, revealing a rounded compartment in which two skintight Kryptonian garments lay neatly folded to show the crest emblazoned on the suits' chests in red and gold. Clark immediately recognized that his father's consciousness was wearing a similar suit beneath his traditional robes, except that the ones in the compartment sported silken red capes flowing from the shoulders. They were a birthright - a piece of Krypton to wear and carry with them, to remind them of where they came from.

"I have a question," Darcie said, speaking up again. Clark and Jor-El turned towards her expectantly as her gaze flitted between them, the suits, and her hands clasped in front of her before finally coming up with the right words.

"Why are we so different?"

The question was a painful one for both of them. Growing up, his powers had made Clark an outcast nearly everywhere he went, the 'weird' kid with very few good friends. He was constantly plagued by sensory overloads and always had to be careful with his strength or speed, but had slowly learned to hide his abilities. There were a few times where he had slipped up and performed some impossible feat that was witnessed by too many, usually resulting in calls for an exorcism or even bringing in the government, but it always settled down quickly, taking his chances of ever being considered 'normal' along with it. His parents also hid it well, but he could tell that they were often worried that someone would find out and take him away. Clark guessed that Darcie had had similar experiences and couldn't help but wonder how she had dealt with the pain of growing up lonely.

Jor-El seemed to sense that it was a sensitive subject and gladly rid the silence with a comforting smile as he explained, "Krypton's sun, Rao, was not nearly as young or as bright as Sol. As you have developed, your cells have evolved under its radiation - strengthening your muscles, your skin, your senses. Earth has a smaller mass and thus weaker gravity than Krypton had, yet its atmosphere is more nourishing, allowing you to perform feats that would have been impossible on our planet.

"These strengths may seem a burden at times, but they allow you to bring hope to the people of Earth, to give them an ideal they can strive to make reality," he smiled, his gaze resting on the inherited garments, "There will be stumblings and shortcomings, and often you may feel that you have failed in your trials, but in time… In time, they will join you in the sun."

Something stirred inside him, another part of him that he had not known existed before today. The feeling welling up in Clark's chest at his father's words gave him strength, gave him hope. Looking over at Darcie, he could tell by the determination in her eyes that she felt the same. This was their heritage - not the broken remnants of a forgotten world, but the destiny to give others hope that they would not suffer the same fate. A destiny they would strive to fulfill.


	15. The Sky

A small note for future reading: paragraphs in italics are usually flashbacks.

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Sky**

* * *

She looked up, craning her neck back so that the twilight sky filled her entire vision.

The ceiling of the world was dark and dotted with a few gray clouds streaking across the horizon, but for the most part, there was absolutely nothing in the one hundred kilometers between her and the black void of space. It was a little disconcerting, having lived nearly her entire life with a white concrete roof over her head and now suddenly being released into this world where all she felt was… she had no idea what to call it or what it even was, except that it was a bit overwhelming. Her chest felt like it was trapped in a vice - which wasn't too far from the truth. The tight steel-blue suit made her feel like she was wearing someone else's skin, and the red cape fluttering behind her was a constant distraction in the far sides of her field of vision.

Darcie resisted the urge to curl up in the snow and go to sleep, or scream until she could scream no more, to do something, anything to relieve the pain of all the emotions writhing in her head.

She knew sleeping was out of the question as the nightmares would only make it worse. Screaming herself hoarse sounded interesting, but Clark might hear her even inside the ancient scout ship where she assumed he would be talking with Jor-El's consciousness, and she did not want him to worry.

Unable to decide on a course of action, Darcie sat in the snow on the edge of the mountain and stared at the dark sky, doing her very best not to think about anything.

Without trying, her vision flickered a few times, the solid deep indigo replaced by a black void filled with a few faint stars, and the reality of it washed over her again. There wasn't a goddamn thing between her and empty space, and there wasn't a goddamn thing she could do about it. If she fell off…

She had to hold on.

She was aware that she was breathing heavily, both hands grasping at the snow in the struggle to keep herself grounded to the Earth, but she was slipping, slipping and going to fall-

"Darcie?"

Her eyes shot open as she tried to jump to her feet, fists at the ready to meet the threat, but she was trembling too much to do much more than clamber to her knees. Clark stood a few feet away, dark hair mussed by the wind and his red cape billowing majestically behind him. He looked down at her with concern showing clearly in his features, before speaking up again over the wind, "You okay?"

"'M fine," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, brushing her hair from her face and ignoring how white her knuckles were as she clung helplessly to the snow.

"Are you sure?" he asked, kneeling close by, "You aren't having another panic attack, are you?"

His gentle voice stirred up something inside her and she couldn't fight back the quiet sob that wracked her frame, shutting her eyes tight against the tears. She could not cry in front of him, she could not let him see how weak she really was, slipping off the edge of the Earth because she couldn't damn hold on.

"Darcie?" Clark asked again, his hand on her shoulder, "Hey, hush, hush, it's all right. Don't hit me, I'ma pick you up now, okay?"

A fresh wave of panic rushed through her as his strong arms freed her from the cold snow, but the touch was not hard and painful - it was gentle and warm and solid. He was steady and strong, and close to him the world seemed to slow enough for her to find her footing again, allowing her to slowly, painfully, catch her breath.

"There you go," he murmured soothingly, rubbing her back through the cape. Darcie almost moaned in relief as he released a tight knot in her shoulder, opening her eyes again to realize that she had buried her face in his chest. In an instant, she was on the defense, about to force herself out of his arms and escape to a safe distance, but paused when she realized she sort of liked the feeling of being held. Yet with the closeness came vulnerability, so it was with great reluctance that she ducked out of his embrace.

The world swayed a little when she stepped away, the dark expanse above captivating her attention once more as she sank to her knees. There was no light out here, not even from the ship - only the faint stars overhead and the pale glow of a sunrise that would take months to arrive. She was dimly aware of Clark sitting down beside her, fidgeting a little as if he had something to say, but hesitated a long moment before finally bringing it up.

"You're a little out of it today," he commented softly, "Something bothering you? I mean, besides the whole 'we're the last children of Krypton' thing."

Darcie stiffened at the reminder and continued to stare up into space. "It's big."

"The sky? Yeah, it tends to be like that a lot."

Part of her recognized that he had made a joke, though she didn't reply except to shake her head, "The world. And the sky. It's too big."

"Don't look at it, then," he soothed, "Just listen to my voice, and close your eyes."

_She obeyed, hefting the gun barrel in her hand, a CV 75 by the weight of it, the empty magazine at her wrist and the bullets in her other hand. Personal best for blind loading was eleven-point-eight-two seconds with her eyes closed-_

"You didn't get any of that, did you?"

She blinked, returned to the clear reality of Clark in his steel-blue Kryptonian suit, sitting closer now and once again looking a bit concerned.

"I- I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, ducking her head in submission.

"It's okay, I was basically just telling you to breathe through it," he smiled, "What's bothering you? Maybe I can help?"

A small part of her longed to lean back against his strong chest and reveal every buried pain and feeling screaming inside her, to tell him how tired and scared and worried she was - both for herself and for him, but mostly for him and what might happen when her Hunters finally caught up. Yet something held her back, and despite the desperate urge for his comfort, Darcie remained silent and politely declined the offer with a shake of her head.

"That's okay, I'm here if you need anything," Clark assured her, catching on that she wasn't in the mood to talk. He stood up to stretch, the movement highlighting his powerful muscles beneath his suit, and he stared at the bleak landscape around them with a sense of wonder and excitement, "I want to try something."

Darcie stiffened at the words, wishing the damn skin-tight suit had some damn pockets for her knife as she glanced up at him. "Anything specific?"

"There was this game I used to play as a kid," he chuckled, "I'd try to jump over the hay bales my Pa stacked against the barn for the cows. If I got a runnin' start, I could usually go pretty high and far, and a few times I even made it over the barn itself. But I've got the feeling I could do better now."

She followed his wistful gaze to a shadowed hill about a half-mile from the slope they were sitting on, then looked back to him with a frown.

"You'll break your neck."

"Says the girl jumping off trucks doing seventy on the highway," he grinned, the arctic breeze playfully ruffling his dark hair, and she resisted the urge to sock him in the jaw.

"It was one damn time-"

"Twice. I saw you with the one outside Eureka, but that's not the point. What I mean is that I can do this. And if I can, you probably can too."

Clark had a point, and it was hard to hit him when he looked so farmboyishly innocent (if that was even a word) and grinning like he'd just been handed a puppy - so she nodded her assent.

If Clark had a tail, it would have been a blur as he began looking around for a flat spot of firm snow to act as his runway, and a few moments later he was crouched at the end opposite from his goal. He shot her another wide grin before sprinting towards where their hill dropped off in a sharp incline, but less than a meter from the edge he seemed to gather his momentum into a mighty jump that sent him much higher than it would any normal human. Clark's red cape fluttered victoriously behind him as he crossed the valley, still rising upward like a bird on the wing. Darcie did not realize that she had risen to her feet as for one glorious moment, he flew, his bright laugh ringing out across the tundra and she nearly laughed with him. Then it all came crashing down.

The impact cracked the far hillside with a noise like thunder as he barrelled into the snow. In an instant, Darcie was in the air, bridging the gap between them faster than the eye could see and digging the crushed snow out of his small crater in a panic. Clark was strong, maybe he had survived the crash, he had to have survived, she needed him and had no idea what she would do with herself if he was-

He laughed again and she turned to see him looking a bit dusty and half-buried in the snow a few meters away, having been thrown from the crash site - and amazingly alive.

"Are you all right?" she asked hurriedly, still trembling a little from the sudden adrenaline rush of trying to reach him so fast, but Clark ignored the question, staring up at her in amazement.

"Dars, you're hovering!"

She glanced down and to her astonishment discovered that he was right - her alien scarlet boots floated a few feet above the snow like it was the most normal thing in the world - up until she lost her balance. Darcie bent her knees and concentrated hard to remain airborne, but only succeeded in collapsing into the soft flakes beside him.

"That was amazing!" Clark cheered, rolling onto his stomach to face her, "The suit looks really cool when you were flying, especially the cape. You looked spectacular."

She nearly hid her face with one hand to hide the blood rising in her cheeks at the compliment, unused to such praise. "Are you sure? There's no skirt, do you think it's too revealing?"

"It's very sleek," Clark agreed lightheartedly, "It's not bad though, it highlights your muscles, and I think the blue brings out your eyes."

Darcie blushed again and resisted the urge to hide behind her cape when he smiled again, grinning mischievously. "Dars?"

"Hmm?"

"' Bet I can reach that cloud before you can," he dared her, pointing out a distant gray altocumulus far above them. She sat up and craned her neck back to spot it, shaking her head with a hint of a smile once she had.

"No way in hell, Boy Scout."

He clambered out of his little crater, finding a somewhat-flat spot on the icy slope to kneel down in preparation for flight and stirring up flakes of snow that swirled around him almost as if in expectancy for takeoff. Darcie followed suit and crouched down with her knees bent and shoulder-width apart to maximize her initial momentum, eyes tracking the target cloud across the wide twilight sky as Clark gave the signal, "Go!"

In a mighty rush of wind that sent the hillside around them crumbling down its own slope, both Kryptonians launched themselves into the air at high speed.

The sudden breeze did not sting her eyes as she had expected and Darcie's vision remained startlingly clear as she ascended, subconsciously resisting Earth's gravity in order to gain altitude. It was only when she had nearly reached the cloud that she realized that she was well and truly flying - far above the planet below, holding herself airborne under her own power. It was exhilarating, urging her to fly higher, faster, farther as she punched through the cloud, water vapor condensing on her suit and skin as she forced herself to take it all in. Hovering above the misty cloud-tops, she could see both sky and Earth spread out around her, each of them no longer struggling to pull her into their abyss now that she could soar the space between.

The cloud was suddenly twisted into a new shape as Clark shot through it like an arrow from a bow, his laugh ringing out bright and clear as he continued to fly higher into the atmosphere. Darcie caught herself chuckling with him as he zoomed past - until his laugh suddenly became a shout of surprise as his flightpath arched downwards.

Another wave of adrenaline surged through her at seeing him at risk, and without any hesitation, she dove to catch up to him.

Matching his uncontrolled speed, within moments Darcie somehow managed to hook her arms under his flailing ones and soar sharply upwards in order to pull them out of the dive, but not fast enough. A snowy peak seemed to rush towards them and she barely had enough time to twist both of them around so that their backs were to the rock when they careened into the mountainside.

They impacted with a sharp crack that split the stone like a thunderbolt, the force of flying at such a high speed sending them right through the summit.

The momentum sent their bodies bouncing across the valley floor and nearly into the side of another mountain before skidding to a halt in a newly-wrought crater.

The dust was slow to clear - but by the time it did, neither of them had moved.


	16. The Stars

**Chapter 16: The Stars**

* * *

Clark came to first, blinking in the moonlight that glinted off the snowy avalanche as it settled on the ravaged peak, and he let out a low groan as his muscles protested the hard landing. For a long moment, he lay panting under the twilight sky, taking in the reality of what had just happened. He had been falling, Darcie had caught them, they'd hit the mountain-

Darcie.

He quickly rolled onto his stomach with the intention of clambering out of the crater in search of her, but suddenly found himself face to face with Darcie lying beneath him, still mostly unconscious after having taken the brunt of the fall. Clark froze, suddenly afraid to wake her when she looked so peaceful and relaxed for once, her dark lashes contrasting against her pale cheeks while her lips parted slightly with each hesitant breath. Deep down, he knew it was a little invasive to kiss her when she wasn't awake to tell him no, but Clark couldn't resist leaning down to gently brush his lips against her forehead at the same moment she woke up.

Brief panic flooded through her as she raised her fist to thrust him off with a sharp blow, though he managed to raise his hands in surrender mere milliseconds before being knocked out.

"It's just me - it's Clark," he promised, moving off to the side to give her some space, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to land on top of you like that. Are you okay?"

Darcie shook her head as if to clear it, ignoring his question in favor of staring up at the shattered mountain in awe.

"Holy fuck," she muttered softly, and for once he didn't tell her off about her language. Considering the peak looked like it had just withstood a meteor strike, her utterance seemed to sum it up quite well.

"Are you okay?" he asked again, the question finally clicking in her brain as she pulled herself to her feet and leaned against the crater-side to brush her windblown hair from her face, nodding vaguely in his direction. Clark found himself grinning in relief that she had survived, along with her suit - cape and all, which apparently hadn't gained so much as a scratch. He caught himself reaching to dust a pulverized boulder from her dark hair and Darcie flinched away from his gentle touch, turning as if to reprimand him when instead she allowed him a small smile.

"Clark… I think we flew."

"I think we did," he agreed softly, his eyes drifting upwards to another cloud far above them and Darcie followed his gaze, sighing in annoyance when she caught on.

"Dars," he smiled.

"Clark," she replied evenly, "I will hit you, and it will hurt."

He nearly flinched at that, having experienced her pain-bringing methods more than a few times when he had accidentally woken her from a nightmare, but it did not deter him from grinning wider. Who knew - he might actually fly on his own this time.

"I'll race you to that cloud, Dars."

"If I have to catch you one more goddamn time-"

"You won't," he promised with a grin, and Darcie actually chuckled at that, shaking her head at the ground before raising her chin to smirk confidently, accepting the challenge.

"You're on, Boy Scout."

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

She won, of course.

And the next four races after that, she shot through the air with ease and left him far behind, but by their seventh attempt, Clark finally managed to hover above the victim cloud without toppling headfirst through it. Darcie had merely smirked at his success and launched herself higher into the sky with him in hot pursuit.

He slowly managed to get the hang of it, figuring out the subconscious adjustments and movements needed to keep himself airborne, but once he did, the act of flying took very little effort. Steering could be achieved by simply turning his body, while elevation and speed were controlled almost by will, pushing himself to go faster and higher with each attempt. Clark often felt the wind suddenly give way for him to fall ungainly towards the Earth, but nearly as often managed to catch himself before destroying any more mountains.

The sudden vastness that came with soaring so high above the Earth let him see much more and much farther than he could on the ground, but also made it harder to keep track of Darcie. She was almost always nearby, a flash of red cape against gray mountainside only seen momentarily by his enhanced vision before she would disappear again in the thundering report of a sonic boom.

It was the first time Clark ever saw her get playful - rarely staying in one place for long as she dove between shadowed mountains and ascended high into the atmosphere, laughing as he chased after her. He felt it too - the euphoria rising in his chest now that he was free from the shackles of gravity keeping him bound from the sky. Higher and higher, far from any form of civilization and far from the ground, racing the wind as they aimed for the stars just out of their reach.

Clark had no idea how long they flew - it felt like it may have been hours before he happened to glance down and realize he could see the curvature of the Earth beneath him. He paused in flight, turning to look at the world spread like a shimmering carpet at his feet, dark blues and deep greens and browns and grays and whites all spinning slowly through the void of space, yet teeming with life. If he tried hard enough he could hear some of the goings-on below - distant voices, the rumblings of what he assumed to be engines, wind susurring across trees and plains and buildings, squealing thrums of radio-waves communicating, and someone nearby calling his name.

"Clark," she said firmly, raising her voice a little as she crossed her arms over her chest. He pricked up at her voice and turned to see Darcie drifting nearby, her dark hair and red cape swirling languidly around her in the low gravity. She looked like an angel with the starry heavens twinkling around her in a dark tapestry of lights, and he could not help but smile up at the clusters of stars and galaxies dancing in a slow rhythm through the sky. Clark couldn't remember the last time he had been able to see this much of the Milky Way in all of its fantastic glory high above the little rock they called home.

"It's beautiful," he answered in a whisper as if afraid to disturb the quiet, craning his neck back to admire the breathtaking sight.

"Clark, I can't breathe."

He paused, turning slightly to face her as he suddenly realized that he couldn't breathe either. The discovery was a little scary and disorientating, but he found that he wasn't especially put off by it. There had been plenty of times as a kid where he had dove to the bottom of the creek with ease and had no trouble holding his breath longer than any other boy in town, but now... it seemed like he did not need to breathe at all.

It suddenly occurred to him that she might have called his name not to point out the view, but to point out that by now they had flown high enough into the thermosphere for the air to be too thin to inhale. Despite the lack of oxygen at such a height, there were still enough molecules for sound to travel and allow Clark's keen hearing to pick up the sharp increase in Darcie's heart rate.

"Dars?" he spoke up, noticing how she was holding her chest with her eyes shut tight and breathing heavily, sure signs of the onset of a panic attack.

His voice seemed to help a little and she opened her eyes long enough to mutter again, "I can't breathe."

"Hush, that's okay," he soothed softly, allowing himself to drift closer, "You don't need to, Dars, you'll be okay."

Clark reached out to touch her arm and was not surprised when she immediately flinched away, her rapid breaths only increasing in pace before she recognized him. His presence seemed to help some, and almost reluctantly, Darcie allowed him to hold her hand and quietly help her through the panic attack.

"I know you're scared, Dars," he murmured as he stroked her scarred knuckles. "I don't blame you, it scares the tar outta me too. We're the last ones of an entire species, we barely even know where we come from and all we've got are these powers and abilities we barely know how to use - but we do know what to do with 'em.

"We're here to show all those people down there on Earth what you can do with powers like these, we're here to keep doing what we've been doing ever since we've met: helping people. They're amazing, humans I mean - Lord, it feels weird saying that, but it's true. My father is right, they are capable of so much and all they need is a nudge in the right direction. That's what we can give them, Dars. That's what we can do."

She didn't answer, but her panicked breaths had calmed down some, and she managed to squeeze back when he gently clenched her hand. Neither spoke for a long moment, simply enjoying the quiet starry sky above and drifting on an unseen solar breeze while they considered the task before them. Clark wouldn't lie, the idea of helping people openly after having to hide himself his entire life shook him to his core. Jonathan Kent, his Earth dad, had died helping him keep his powers a secret - but somehow the thought of setting an example for people through his actions did not seem as dangerous as it had growing up. His powers were more developed now, he could see and hear farther, and could lift much more, and he could fly now. Jor-El was right: with their powers, they could be shining beacons of hope in the world.

He glanced over at Darcie to see how she was considering the day's revelations and found that she had nearly recovered from the brief panic attack, though she was still gripping his hand as if she were afraid of drifting apart. Now she was staring up at the cosmos spread out above them, her lips moving as she silently recited the names of the constellations in the light of the rising sun as it just barely peeked out from behind the Earth.

Clark remembered how she had done the same thing almost every night as they traveled through Canada, spending many sleepless hours mapping out the dark heavens until his curiosity finally got the better of him.

"Why do you stare up at it so much?" he had asked one night, "Is there something wrong with it?"

Darcie had shrugged, her gaze flickering between him and the distant sky as she shook her head, "I… expected it to be darker."

Clark remembered smiling and climbing up to perch on the back of their current rental and sit beside her. "It won't ever get too dark, there's always a light somewhere."

The rest of the evening had been spent stargazing until Clark had finally gotten tired enough to fall asleep in the backseat. He was pretty sure she had stayed up the entire night to watch the starry sky go by, just like the two of them were doing now - only this time they were much closer to the cosmic lights.

"We can do so much," Darcie murmured beside him, pulling him out of his reverie and into the present, "But we are still the only ones. We could do so much more if only we were not alone."

"You're not alone, you've got me," Clark smiled, giving her hand a quick squeeze. He saw her hide a flinch at his touch, her shoulders stiffening in a way that was becoming all too familiar, but the hardened look in her eyes softened some as she looked up at him.

"Clark?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I-I want to help. I really do," Darcie said softly, clenching the red cape floating behind her as she continued through gritted teeth, "I'm not sure if I can help, Clark, I'm too..."

She trailed off, staring down at her scarred knuckles tightly gripping the cape. They had healed almost overnight after the 'incident' a few months back, but Clark had seen them bloodied more than a few times after that. It was just the way of things: Darcie was a fighter, and fighters had scars. But deep down Clark knew she was more than that. Her experience with a knife, the scars so obviously inflicted by weapons, her wide knowledge of hand-to-hand combat - it all proved that the young woman beside him was more than a fighter: she was a warrior. Warriors did not often heal or comfort those in need. But warriors protected and fought for the ones that needed them most. Warriors did more than help the survivors of the war - they made sure it was never fought again.

"I… I do not know where to go from here," she whispered.

Clark realized that she had no idea what she could do. The powers they had been gifted with had so many uses and advantages, and while Clark saw his as a tool to be used to help others, she only knew that they made her all the more dangerous.

He wanted to hold her again, to hug her close and tell her that everything would be okay, everything would be alright. He wanted to make her know that whatever her abuser had tried to turn her into hadn't stuck, that she wasn't a weapon, but a strong and beautiful and brave young woman, that she wasn't alone anymore. But he couldn't come up with the words.

"That's all right, Dars," he said softly, wishing for all the world that he could simply lean in and kiss her better, but he satisfied himself with smiling gently, "Let's go home."


	17. The Trail - Part I

Notes for this chapter: This is actually the original version! I am currently working on the revised edition, which includes a lot more content and I hope to upload it sometime near the end of October. The original (which you are reading now) is split into three parts with each part being named after an important character key to Lois' investigation (yes, we are finally getting back to that). I absolutely loved Lois' investigation in MoS and almost fangirl-squeal whenever I find a fic that goes into more depth on it. It's such an essential and barely-noticed part of the story, and I really feel like I didn't quite do it justice with this single chapter. I hope you enjoy this though, and please come back for more!

* * *

**Chapter 17: The Trail**

* * *

**White**

Lois exhaled deeply as she stretched in the chair, wincing a little as the new skin pulled over the scar on her right side. Having to change the bandage daily was a nuisance, but the doctor said whoever had cauterized it had done a good job and that she'd be back in fighting shape within a week or two. Not that Lois intended to be fighting anytime soon except with the written word.

Back in the familiar bullpen surrounded by the Daily Planet's usual bustle, she placed her fingers on the keyboard, glad to be back in her territory. Lois had spent the last few days writing down everything she could recall from her 'adventure' and was now trying to organize it into something her readers would find as intense and gripping as she had. Her thoughts kept wandering to one of her rescuers, his chiseled jaw and blue eyes having been the focus of her dreams the past few nights. Lois could barely think of anything else.

"C'mon, Lo," she muttered to herself, "Keep your head in the game, not your heart."

Her fingers flew across the keys as she began to write, words pouring forth to convey her experience while she fought to keep her emotions out of the work. Even so, she knew the first paragraph would need quite a bit of revision before it was ready for print, but she told herself it was just a draft and the editor would put her in her place.

"'Tall, dark and handsome is overused in describing the perfect man.'" Lois winced as she stood in the copy room watching the papers exit the printer. She had it bad.

Praying that Perry wouldn't be wearing his glasses and skim the opening bit, she knocked on his office door. A moment later his booming voice summoned, "In!"

She entered, wordlessly dropping the stapled pages of her draft on his desk before opening up a copy on her tablet. Perry scooped up the article, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he read and Lois inwardly cringed when his brow wrinkled at the first line, but stayed silent as he finished pouring over it.

"Read the last paragraph aloud," he said after a moment, and she obeyed.

"'What Colonel Hardy and his team surmised was a Soviet-era submarine, was, in fact, something much more exotic. An isotope analysis of the surrounding ice bores suggested that an object had been trapped in the glacier for over 18,000 years," Lois read diligently, "As for my rescuers? They disappeared during the object's departure. A background check revealed that much of their work histories and identities had been falsified. The questions raised by their existence are frightening to contemplate, but I also know what I saw. And I have arrived at the inescapable conclusion that the object and its occupants did not originate on Earth.'"

She looked up expectantly, mentally preparing herself for the usual dissection of her work. To her surprise and annoyance, Perry simply removed his glasses, not even attempting to edit the article.

"' Hate to break it to you, Lois, but I can't print this," he sighed, "You might have dreamt up half of it and hallucinated the rest."

"What about the civilian contractors who corroborated my story?" she shot back, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. Perry rolled his eyes and looked out the window at the street below, all too used to the reporter's temper.

"The Pentagon is denying there was a ship, Lane," he replied calmly, avoiding eye contact and the simmering glare she was shooting him.

"Of course they are! It's the Pentagon, that's what they're supposed to do!" Lois pointed out, then changed her tactic, "Perry, c'mon, it's me we're talking about. I'm your star reporter, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize-"

"Then act like it," Perry cut her off, turning away from the window to sigh in her direction. Lois had a history of trying his patience almost daily and she didn't give him any holidays as she raised her chin in defiance.

"Print it or I walk," she replied defiantly.

"You can't. You're under contract."

Lois sighed and let her arms fall at her sides, defeated by that simple fact.

"I'm not running a story about aliens walking among us," he told her finally, sliding the stapled draft across his desk towards her as he shook his head. "The Planet is an esteemed newspaper, Lane, and though I have a lot of respect for you and your writing... it will never happen."

Lois nodded and picked up the draft as she left his office, but she couldn't help but smile a little at the thought of proving him wrong.

* * *

**Woodburn**

Lois Lane was no cub reporter - she had been the Daily Planet's star journalist for years now and had her ways of getting things done. If Perry wouldn't publish her article, she would find someone else to do it.

Unfortunately, her usual backup was off in South Africa doing missionary work and didn't have access to decent wifi, so Lois was forced to fall back on Plan B. Plan B was also known as Glen Woodburn, the mud racketeering internet blogger on the barstool next to her and who was all too happy to bite when she had dangled the article in front of his nose. There was no way he could turn down an original piece by the infamous Lois Lane.

Despite his willingness to publish the piece for free, Lois couldn't push down the loathing towards the man and his lack of journalistic ethics, not to mention that his dirty bleached hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days. She needed this story out there, even if it meant going behind Perry's back, even if it meant giving it to a piece of crap like Woodburn, but she certainly wasn't enjoying the publishing process. Thus the scotch whiskey in her right hand.

Lois thanked the bartender over the lunchtime commotion of the Ace of Clubs. Sipping daintily from the glass, she pulled a thumb drive from her pocket and held it up so the nerdy blogger sitting on the next seat could see it.

"This is a copy of the original article," she stated, reminding him of the reason for their meeting, "My editor won't print it, but if it happened to leak online…"

She let the implication hang in the air for a moment. Lois had been sure to brief him of the situation as best she could over text before meeting up here, so Woodburn was well aware of the drill. He nodded a little too emphatically as she handed him the drive, giving it an inquisitive glance through his thick glasses before his expression turned serious. "Okay, I'll do it. There's just one problem."

Lois barely suppressed a groan of annoyance, "What do you want now, Glen?"

"I remember you once describing my site as a 'creeping cancer of falsehoods' or something along those lines," he answered, chuckling at his terrible imitation of her voice. She shot him a glare and mentally vowed to never talk to him again after this.

"I stand by my words," she answered evenly, "But I need this story out there."

"Why?"

That was the question. Why had she been so intrigued by her rescuers on Ellesmere? Why was she dedicating almost every waking moment and a good chunk of her budget to finding them? Why was she here in the sketchiest part of town so she could convince this sleazeball of a blogger to publish her story?

"Because I want my mystery people to know I know the truth," Lois said finally, suppressing the urge to add that "Joe's" incredible handsomeness might have something to do with it. She needed to see them again, she needed to see him again.

Lois picked up the glass and Woodburn watched as she downed the entire thing in one go. Shaking his head, he slipped the drive in his pocket as he got up. "Good luck. You're gonna need it."

Setting the empty glass down to shake his hand, she watched him exit the Club with a small sigh of relief. Lois picked up her bag off the counter as the bartender took her cup, glancing down at her watch while heading for the door. Her flight to Eureka left in three hours - just enough time to pack her bags and get to the airport.

Now to find her rescuers.

* * *

**Ross**

How do you find someone who has spent a lifetime covering their tracks?

Lois stared at the small black words and the blinking line waiting for her to write more. The last two weeks held the answer to her simple question. She had traveled hundreds of miles from remote arctic tundra to small-town gas stations hunting who could quite possibly be the two most unique people on the planet. It had been one of her toughest investigations, and a few times she had thought she'd lost the trail completely, but her reporter's instincts always came through.

Returning to where it had all started, Lois had managed to track down Jed Eubanks at the Arctic Cargo base in Eureka. On the agreement that everything he said would remain off-record, he managed to get her a little information about the young helicopter pilot and her brother, 'Joe'.

You start with the urban legends that have sprung up in their wake.

The newspaper of a small Canadian town posted an article on their website about a forest fire in the area that had burnt itself out quicker than expected. The firemen Lois interviewed all claimed to have seen a pair of 'burning angels' in the flames, and two of them had told her about a falling oak that should have crushed them, but somehow rolled away at the last moment.

The friends of a friend who have claimed to have seen them.

The waiter at her restaurant knew of a Walter and Elizabeth Cooper, who had been at a nearby ski resort for three days when the avalanche started. One look and they both knew they weren't going to survive when a strong gust of wind hit them. When they opened their eyes again, they were out of the snow slide's path, nearly six-hundred feet from where they had been. Elizabeth chalked it up to some crazy scientific phenomena like the snow pushing air in front of it that blew them out of the way, but her husband swore he had felt someone carrying him.

For some, they were guardian angels.

The tangled threads led her to a pub in Yellowknife where she met Chrissy, a sweet young waitress who told her the story of the young man that came to her aid when a trucker threatened her with harassment and the girl who left a beer can lodged in the wall. The same night an eighteen-wheeler log truck had vanished from the parking lot to reappear forty miles west, nothing but an enormous piece of smoking scrap impaled by the logs it'd been hauling.

For others, a cipher - ghosts who never quite fit in.

A soft-spoken greenhorn working on a crabbing boat was washed overboard one stormy afternoon and never heard from again, but looked exactly like the man in the security photo Lois had managed to procure.

A young woman heading north and never staying in one place for long disappeared after what should have been a fatal car crash, but showed up at a remote gas station a few days later completely unscathed.

As you work your way back in time, the stories begin to form a pattern.

The trails had separated at the legendary Cassidy's Pub, each coming from various directions.

Not many people had ever seen the young woman, making her nearly impossible to trace, her path fading whenever Lois thought she was getting somewhere, before getting warm again just as she was about to give up. Lois couldn't help but notice that it seemed like her target had been on the run, rarely staying in one place for more than a few hours, but she managed to track her as far back as Hamilton County in New York where the trail finally disappeared.

On the other hand, her partner was a bit more known, having wandered slowly across the country coming up from the United States. More miracles sprang up in his wake, stories of a shadowy figure that could do the impossible. Stories like the one of the boy from Smallville, Kansas.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The friendly gas station attendant was very helpful and knew Mr. Ross well (which wasn't surprising, considering how small the town was). He kindly directed her to the local IHOP while filling up the tank of her rental car, so Lois thanked him and headed out to follow his directions through the hick town.

The place really lived up to its name, the tallest structure in the entire town being an old water tower decorated with the name of the tiny community, nothing like the skyscrapers that dominated the Metropolis skyline. Old pickup trucks puttered down the main road, a small eat-in diner boasted a neon sign advertising their pancakes, and a strolling couple walked their dog. It was even more Podunk than Podunk, if that was possible, though it didn't seem like a place a laser-eyed man of steel would call home. But it was a lead, and she was going to follow it out.

A rosy-cheeked manager in his early thirties greeted her at the door, offering to seat her at a table, which Lois politely refused when she noticed his name tag.

"Pete Ross?" she asked, and he smiled.

"How can I help you?"

"I'd like to talk to you about an accident that occurred when you were younger," Lois explained, cutting to the point. "Do you remember the school bus that went into the river?"

His smile faded at her mention of the event, but once they were seated at one of his booths, Mister Ross diligently related to her the story of the boy who had saved his life. Lois' sources had told her of the fateful day twenty years ago where a tire had blown on the Smallville High school bus as it was crossing a river. The driver swerved to avoid an oncoming car and ended up going off the bridge, where by all rights the bus should have sunk and the students drowned. According to the library's archives of the Smallville school paper Lois had found, the bus had landed close enough to the bank for the driver to move it out of danger with its occupants mostly unharmed, but Pete told her otherwise.

They had splashed down in the deepest part and water immediately began filling the space. He remembered it rushing around his knees as he tried to reach the back of the bus where there was the least water when a classmate passed him. Clark Kent, one of the quieter students who was often bullied, managed to get the back door open just as the bus went completely under. The force of the current dragged Pete out of the safety of the vehicle and the next thing he knew, Clark had grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him onto the bank where the bus was parked. A friend of Pete's told him that his rescuer had actually pushed the bus out of the water.

It had been the talk of the town for months after that, and Pete's mom had firmly believed it was an act of God up until the day she died of cancer a few years back. It had calmed down since then and the incident was dismissed as a 'stress-induced hallucination' thought up by the kids and their active imaginations. The only person who truly knew what Clark had done was the boy's mother.

Lois managed to get the woman's name and address over a plate of pancakes before thanking the helpful manager and getting back on the road.

Typing the address into her GPS, it brought her down a long dusty road flanked by acres of corn and the odd farm until she finally found a mailbox labeled 'Kent'. A dirt driveway led to an old white farmhouse in need of a fresh coat of paint, with an even more ancient barn in the back, though she had to admit the small flower garden by the porch was beautiful. Lois exited her red rental and had just mounted the creaking steps when a collie barked at her approach.

"Dusty! Shush, shush," a grey-haired woman hushed him as she came to the screen door, the dog at her side.

"Mrs. Kent?" Lois asked, putting on a friendly smile. The older woman nodded in reply, eyeing the stranger's city clothes as Lois spoke.

"I'm Lois Lane, from the Daily Planet-"

Dusty barked again, also wary of the newcomer.

"Quiet!" Martha told him, and he obeyed. Lois, ignored the dog, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face as she continued.

"Mrs. Kent, I'm from the Daily Planet. I'd like to talk to you about your son."

The older woman paused and slowly gave the stranger a second look. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, her face set as if she had been expecting this for a long time.


	18. The Trail - Part II

A/N: It loooooong. Please comment and kudos!

* * *

**Chapter 18: The Trail - Part II**

* * *

"Mister Eubanks?"

"Oh, Miss Lane!" the manager smiled, turning around from where he had been stamping a series of packages, his tone surprised and just a little bit strained, but at least he still shook her hand when she offered it to him, "How are you? I heard you got sent back south after the incident - something medical, they said."

Lois nodded, "Something like that."

Getting stabbed by an alien robot _had_ to count as medical, though she doubted that Jed would believe her if she tried to relate the experience. Instead, she zipped her coat up a little tighter against the breeze coming in through the doors of the warehouse where she had been told she would find the manager and ignored the itching wound in her side.

"What're you doing all the way back here in Eureka?" Jed asked, ticking off a few numbers on his clipboard as he glanced between Miss Lane and the stack of packages to his left, "I'm afraid I can't have any of my boys ship you out to the camp anymore - they closed the area up, y'know. No one except the military is allowed up there."

"That's actually what I came here to talk to _you_ about," Lois explained, pulling out her notebook and struggling to grip her pen through her wool mittens. Damn, she had promised herself she would never come back to this warmth-forsaken place that was Northern Canada, but she needed answers. "What do you know about the anomaly? Did you see it by any chance?"

Eubanks visibly stiffened at the question, setting his clipboard aside as he turned to face her. "I'm afraid I haven't been given permission to talk about any of that, Miss Lane. They said it was a matter of national security."

"'They'?" Lois asked, raising an eyebrow at the word, though she already had a pretty good guess as to whom Jed was referring.

"Whoever you like. The government, or the military, or NORTHCOM, or DARPA, or just about anyone else you can think of who was involved. It was only an avalanche - I have no idea why they would be so concerned about keeping a lid on it, but I'm bound by the law and I'm afraid I won't be much help to you in the meantime."

Lois was crestfallen, but she refused to show it and nodded politely. She'd grown up an army brat and was more than familiar with the nature of the US Espionage Act which often prevented discussion of things that usually seemed trivial, but were considered 'classified information' by some government higher-up. Yet Lois had never been one to let that stop her.

"I understand," she stated simply, "Can I at least ask a few questions about some of your employees? Joseph and Samantha Hunt?"

Jed recognized the names immediately, shoving his hands into the pockets of his parka as he shook his head sadly.

"About seven people were missing from the camp the morning after the glacier collapsed, and only four of them were found, Miss Lane. You were one of them, but there's been no trace of Joe and Miss Hunt since then. They were good people, helpful and kind - I hate to admit it, but it's been nearly a week at this point. With winter closing in, I doubt they lasted more than a few days," Eubanks sighed, "That ice shelf was too unstable, even before the earthquake. I always thought the base camp was a bit too close to that thing - it's a miracle the whole shelf didn't come down on top of it. In fact, that's why I had my pilots land on the far side. Not that it did Miss Hunt much good."

"Has their next of kin been alerted of the accident?" Lois asked, scribbling down the gist of Jed's answer.

"That's just the thing, Miss Lane: just the other day my assistant discovered that most of their work histories had been falsified, and I doubt much of the contact info was valid either. I can't make head or tail of it - they were the nicest folk, if a bit quiet and they tended to keep to themselves, but I never took them for the sort to lie on their applications."

Here Eubanks paused and seemed to think hard for a long moment before speaking up again, "I take that back - parts of the applications were confirmed as the truth. I can't remember the specifics, but I think Joe had some work experience down in Yellowknife and his sister had been an engineer of some sort at an airfield in the States - in Delaware, I think. I'd have to check our records to be sure, but some intelligence agents from the US military came through here just a few days ago and confiscated most of the documents for evidence or something."

"So no one has been in contact with either of their families?" Lois questioned, bewildered by the fact, "They've been missing for a week now - shouldn't someone have told their relatives?"

Jed Eubanks shook his head sadly. "As far as I know, the Hunt family might not even exist. We had no valid contact information last that I checked, but I made sure to let Colonel Hardy know last time I saw him. I'm sure he'll take care of it, though I'm afraid there isn't much more that can be done, Miss Lane."

Lois nodded sadly, clicking her pen closed and shoving it along with the notebook back in her pocket. "I'm sure you did all that you could, Mister Eubanks. Though if you hear anything else about them, could you please let me know?"

"It might be classified," Jed frowned, eyeing her skeptically (probably wondering why on Earth this reporter wanted to know so much about two of his employees), but he reluctantly assented, "If you can find out what happened to those poor souls, I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

"That's exactly what I intend to do," Lois promised.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Eubanks had tried his best to be helpful, but little did he know, the most important aspect of his intel was false. Of course, he had been right about 'Joseph' and 'Samantha Hunt' being aliases.

But he hadn't been right about them being dead.

Lois should know. She had seen them. And there was no way in hell she was going to stop tracking them down until she proved that fact to the world.

Back in her hotel room (one with a decently comfy bed and a heater, thank God), Lois pulled out her laptop and notes before pouring herself a large mug of coffee and getting to work.

Eubanks had mentioned that 'Joe's' previous job had been down south in Yellowknife, but besides that, he hadn't been able to give her anything more specific. That would have been a dead end to anyone but the renowned Lois Lane, who recognized the pattern immediately - she had seen her rescuers perform superhuman feats with ease, and if it was that simple for them, they must have done it before. The next logical step was to google unexplainable occurrences in the region around Yellowknife - ones that could have only been caused by someone like her rescuers - and see if any of the persons involved matched their descriptions.

Years of practice had taught her how to weed out the useless nonsense pretty quickly, and within half an hour, Lois had managed to find two or three articles that looked promising. The first one involved a couple of boats sinking under mysterious circumstances out in the Great Slave Lake, mostly civilian fishermen, but the odd thing was that every craft sank within minutes of each other in near-calm waters. Luckily, there were no casualties, but most of the sailors swore they had seen things in the water right before they went down. Lois quickly dismissed the idea, firstly because she knew that mermaids weren't real, and secondly because a few minutes later she found another article from the same area and dated a year previously detailing a popular sealing and waterproofing shop that had been using faulty materials - one at which all the downed ships had been regular customers.

The second piece she found had been published only a few months earlier and described the disappearance of a 35-ton logging truck and its haul from outside a pub in Yellowknife. The truck had reappeared two days later, nearly two-hundred miles south near Fort Providence and _impaled_ by the logs it had been hauling.

There was a picture of the rig in question attached to the article, and _damn_ the vehicle looked torn up. Twenty-foot logs stuck out in every direction like some sort of haphazard pincushion, tearing through the steel like butter and exposing scrapped engine and sparking wires. This wasn't your everyday overturned-truck-on-the-side-of-the-highway - this was a freaking mess and to Lois, someone who prided herself on always coming up with the answers, almost unexplainable.

Almost.

But not quite.

Looking back on her encounter and remembering the ease with which 'Darcie' had smashed the sentry robot to a pulp, skewering a logging rig with tree trunks would've been a walk in the park for the aliens. According to the police investigation, what had happened to the truck should have been impossible by human standards - but, Lois corrected, not by superhuman alien ones. Though it didn't quite line up with the 'good Samaritan' narrative she had come to associate with her mystery pair, it was still the most plausible explanation she could think of to explain the 'impossible' destruction of the rig.

Lois quickly jotted down the name of the pub from the article and soon found directions to it online before she switched tabs to look at plane tickets from Eureka to Yellowknife. The first flight left around nine the next morning - and she would be on it.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The cabbie was familiar with the place - Lois could tell by the way he shook his head and shrugged, muttering something about Cassidy's not being the sort of place for fancy womenfolk before he put the car into gear.

It'd been simple enough to fly from Eureka to Yellowknife Regional Airport, and from there hail a ride to the infamous pub described in the article she'd found the night before. Her driver grumbled a bit along the way, suggesting that maybe she'd prefer some other restaurant with better food or maybe even wi-fi, but Lois insisted and promised a decent tip of the man would just get on with it.

He finally pulled into the parking lot full of trucking rigs beside a faded plank building on the edge of town, which Lois almost would have mistaken for a dilapidated storehouse if it hadn't been for the sign out front reading "Cassidy's Pub" and a few more in the windows boasting of the best beer in the territory. She doubted that, but it was too early in the morning to order one and confirm her suspicions.

She paid and tipped the cabbie before grabbing her suitcase out of the trunk and mounting the creaking steps of the pub's front porch. Lois could hear music playing on a radio inside, accompanied by a few voices chatting and the sound of bacon sizzling on the hob. It didn't much smell like bacon - more like stale beer and sweat - but Lois had been in plenty of grimier joints before when following a story, and simply wrinkled her nose in distaste before stepping inside.

The place was nearly empty, which Lois knew from experience was normal for a trucker bar just before lunch. A few riggers sat at various tables, quietly talking or eating brunch, and nearby a young woman was wiping glasses behind the bar before she glanced up at Lois' arrival, blinked for a moment, then came around the counter to greet the customer.

"Good morning, ma'am," she smiled, tucking her towel into her apron pocket as she approached Lois, who noted that the nametag on the woman's shirt read 'Chrissy', "Would you like a table?"

Lois nodded, adjusting her bag over one shoulder, "That'd be great. Near a window, if that's all right."

Chrissy nodded and led her to a small booth with a window overlooking the back parking lot, pulling a cloth out of her apron pocket to give the table one last good wipe as Lois took a seat and slid her suitcase behind her chair.

"What can I get you, miss? We just stopped serving breakfast, but lunch is available if you want," the waitress asked, pulling a notebook out of her back pocket in preparation to take Lois' order.

"I think I'll just have an americano," Lois answered, ignoring the mild look of surprise on Chrissy's face. A truck stop that also happened to be a bar was possibly one of the worst places to order a cup of coffee, not to mention that there were plenty of decent cafes just a few blocks over, but Chrissy wasn't about to tell her that and lose a customer, so she simply nodded in reply.

"Sure! One americano, coming right up."

Lois thanked her and settled back in her seat while the waitress went to warm up the coffee pot, taking a moment to observe the pub around her.

A few of the breakfasting truckers had already left, but there were still enough people about to create a quietly busy atmosphere of utensils clattering on plates and voices discussing a local hockey game. The bar itself was decently clean and the surrounding tables - though scratched and worn - were well wiped. On the far wall was a nice, if a little grubby, mural of a typical Canadian landscape - but what really caught Lois' attention was that smack in the middle of it was a beer can that looked like it had somehow been driven into the wood beneath without getting crushed. It wasn't the weirdest thing she had seen on a pub wall, but it did rank pretty high, and the picture frame around it was a nice touch.

Curious, Lois got out of her seat and moved closer to inspect it, discovering that the back of a receipt had been taped to the frame, on which someone had scrawled 'bud light's got a nice kick to it' and a date sometime in late August of that year. The can itself was nothing special - unless you counted the fact that it had been driven half-way through a plywood wall - but it suddenly occurred to Lois that the date written on the receipt had been two days before the article about the demolished logging rig had been published.

"Miss?" someone asked, and Lois spun around to see Chrissy setting a full mug of coffee down on her table.

"I got your americano, and I brought some creamer too, if you want it," Chrissy announced, her gaze flitting between the customer and the wall as a small grin appeared on her face, "You wondering how the Can got there?"

Yes, that was exactly what Lois was wondering, but before she could confirm that, the waitress was already in the thick of explaining the story.

"So I was getting harassed by a customer one night, and Will - he was one of Weaver's busboys then - came over and told the man to just leave it be. Ludlow - one of our regulars - didn't like that, and it looked like a fight was about to break out when this young lady who'd been sitting at the bar came and made him back off. He put his fists down but wouldn't stop teasing her, so she up and kicked a beer can at his head, but it went straight into the damn wall!"

Chrissy chuckled at the recollection, lowering her voice to a conspiratory whisper, "Weaver sent her out and fired Will, so they both walked out like the whole thing was over. But Ludlow's truck disappeared the same night and the police only found it a few days later down by Fort Providence - but they think something got to it sooner as it was all torn up when they arrived."

"What do you mean 'torn up'?" Lois asked, knowing all too well what Chrissy meant.

"I mean," the waitress answered in a whisper, "that all the logs it'd been carrying got _stabbed_ straight through it. Something happened out there - but no one knows quite what."

Lois knew - it had to be her mystery rescuers.

"The woman that kicked the beer can," she said slowly, "Do you think Will knew her? Or did she know him?"

Chrissy shook her head, confirming Lois' suspicions, "I'd worked with Will for nearly eight months when he left, and not once had I ever seen him with or mention any girls - I think he might've been asexual or something. But now that you mention it, it's odd that Will didn't know her because I could've sworn they looked just like twins."

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Though Lois would never admit it, the trail she had been chasing quickly got cold after she left Cassidy's Pub. Chrissy had tried her best to be helpful, especially after Lois explained that she needed 'Will's' employee information to contact his family and let them know their son had been reported missing after the Ellesmere Incident (she had learned early on in her career that people loved to help her when they thought someone's life was at stake - and to be honest, she wasn't lying about him being on Arctic Cargo's list of missing persons). Unfortunately, there was no tell-all job application filed away in the pub's flight back-office - Weaver had simply given Will the job when he asked for it, having been a bit short of busboys at the time.

Chrissy managed to give her a little more personal info on the mystery rescuer, mostly small facts gathered from months of working with him. He was American, still wrote handwritten letters to his mama down south, was a dog person, and was not a fan of hard liquor, hooking up, or even the occasional smoke. To Chrissy, 'Will' had simply been a quiet, kind coworker always ready to give someone a smile, but not really one for talking about his past.

Lois thanked the waitress for her help and ordered another coffee for the road before heading for the motel room she had booked. Chrissy's info didn't seem very important at the time, but Lois diligently documented all that she had learned at the pub and resorted back to using keywords on the internet to hunt down what she could only now think of as 'encounters' with people not too dissimilar from her rescuers.

In the tangled mess of archives, articles, forums, and news pieces, there would always be a hint of a hint of something that resembled what Lois had seen on Ellesmere - pairs of people with inhuman strength, glowing red eyes, or an unusual immunity to fire or drowning. Most of the encounters she was able to dismiss as drunken hallucinations or some other very logical conclusion (except for one which she could only describe as a demonic experience and quickly skipped over to another article).

Darcie was very rarely mentioned in most of what Lois found, and almost seemed to have some military experience as far as the reporter could tell - only some sort of military personnel or agent could do such blatantly abnormal things and still avoid detection. Clark, on the other hand, was the more traceable of the two - people tended to remember him better and could give a more detailed description of him that Lois could confirm definitely sounded like the kind, dark-haired man who had cauterized her injury. There was even a picture of him in a Kodiak newspaper article from two years back, relating the story of a young man working on the crabbing boat '_Debbie Sue_' who had been washed overboard the same day a nearby oil rig went up in flames. Oddly enough, both the survivors of the rig fire and the Coast Guardsmen who had rescued them claimed to have seen _the man in the photo_ on the drill with them mere minutes after he had disappeared.

Lois' reporter's instincts surged at the story, and she managed to scrounge up enough money to buy a round-trip flight up to Kodiak to interview everyone involved. Most of the survivors of the incident had either moved on or had a little too healthy of a wariness towards reporters, but the Coasties at the nearby rescue station were more than happy to go on record and describe what they saw if only that Lois would promise to thank the man if she ever found him.

He had apparently managed to somehow board the rig, make his way up to the control room through the blazing passageways, and guide the remaining survivors up to the helipad on the top deck where the helicopter was able to pick them up. But before the mysterious man himself could board, both himself and the pilot of the chopper noticed two major support beams for a nearby derrick snap under the intense heat. It fell towards the vulnerable chopper, and would have crushed it along with the men inside only a moment later if the stranger hadn't stepped forward to _hold the derrick up_.

A young man holding up a burning steel derrick in the middle of a storm with only brute strength.

It was impossible.

It was impossible for anyone who wasn't Lois' rescuers.

Somehow she managed to find out where the _Debbie Sue_ docked, and miracle of miracles, caught Captain Heraldson a few minutes before he went out on another crabbing run. He was a rough-looking man, though by all reports seemed to care a great deal about both his crew and his ship, but was in no mood to talk with a reporter raising up bad memories about the greenhorn he'd lost. Heraldson simply nodded in confirmation when Lois showed him the photo of Clark she had managed to procure from a missing persons list, acknowledging that the young man in the photo was definitely the lost greenhorn, but he could only shrug in response when asked if he knew where his ex-employee had been from.

"Farm country - Iowa, maybe," the Captain answered gruffly before brushing past her towards his boat, "Now if you'll excuse me."

The very next day, Lois' searching turned up another story in Manitoba about a volunteer fireman who disappeared during a blaze - the missing man's description exactly matched that of Lois' rescuer. More and more stories similar to the first continued to pop up, stories of mysterious do-gooders and rescuers helping wherever they could and creating a trail that she was all too willing to follow. For the first time in years - not since she had been embedded with the First Division on the frontier investigation and writing the piece that nearly got her a Pulitzer - Lois well and truly felt the thrill of the hunt for the truth. The pieces were falling into place, and it wouldn't be long before she uncovered the whole picture.


	19. The Trail - Part III

A/N: I'm not sure if ya'll can tell, but I'm notorious for my inability to settle on a proper chapter length.

* * *

**Chapter 19: The Trail - Part III**

* * *

_How do you find someone who has spent a lifetime covering their tracks? _

Lois stared at the small black words and the blinking line waiting for her to write more. The last two weeks held the answer to her simple question. She had traveled hundreds of miles from remote arctic tundra to small-town gas stations hunting who could quite possibly be the two most unique people on the planet. It had been one of her toughest investigations, and a few times she had thought she'd lost the trail completely, but her reporter's instincts always came through.

Returning to where it had all started, Lois had managed to track down Jed Eubanks at the Arctic Cargo base in Eureka. On the agreement that everything he said would remain off-record, he managed to get her a little information about the young helicopter pilot and her brother, 'Joe'.

_You start with the urban legends that have sprung up in their wake. _

The newspaper of a small Canadian town posted an article on their website about a flash flood that went in the complete opposite direction than expected. The first responders Lois interviewed all said that the usual waterway had been dammed up with logs and broken asphalt from a nearby construction site, and two of them even claimed that the trees appeared to have been ripped out by their roots and had deep, handprint-like gouges in a few. They didn't have any photographic evidence (the waterway had been cleared of debris a few months before, so the logs were no longer there), but Lois knew that they could only be telling the truth.

_The friends of a friend who have claimed to have seen them. _

The waiter at her restaurant knew of a Walter and Elizabeth Cooper, who had been at a nearby ski resort for three days when the avalanche started. One look and they both knew they weren't going to survive, when a strong gust of wind hit them. When they opened their eyes again, they were out of the snow slide's path, nearly six-hundred feet from where they had been. Elizabeth chalked it up to some crazy scientific phenomena like the snow pushing air in front of it that blew them out of the way, but her husband swore he had felt someone carrying him.

_For some, they were guardian angels. _

Mr. Eubank's info led her to a pub in Yellowknife where she met Chrissy, a sweet young waitress who told her the story of the young man that came to her aid when a trucker threatened her with harassment and the woman who left a beer can lodged in the wall. The same night an eighteen-wheeler log truck had vanished from the parking lot to reappear forty miles west, nothing but an enormous piece of smoking scrap impaled by the logs it'd been hauling.

_For others, a cipher - ghosts who never quite fit in. _

A soft-spoken greenhorn working on a crabbing boat was washed overboard one stormy afternoon and never heard from again, but looked exactly like the man in a security photo Lois had managed to procure.

A young woman headed north was found to have bought multiple plane tickets without giving any valid form of identification, phone number, or destination in mind, before disappearing a few days later in what should have been a fatal car crash, but showed up on the security feed of a remote gas station a few days later - completely unscathed.

_As you work your way back in time, the stories begin to form a pattern._

The trails had separated at the legendary Cassidy's Pub, each coming from various directions. No one Lois spoke to had seen either of them together before the day the logging rig had disappeared - in fact, not many people had seen the young woman at all, making her nearly impossible to trace. Good descriptions and photos to confirm that the witness really had seen the woman Lois was after were hard to come by, and solid evidence nearly nonexistent. Darcie's path faded whenever Lois thought she might be getting somewhere, chasing the hint of a hint of a hint, but the trail would always get warm again just as the reporter was about to give up. Lois couldn't help but notice that it seemed like her target had been on the run, rarely staying in one place for more than a few hours, but she managed to track her target all the way back to a gas station in Hamilton County, New York, where a woman matching 'Darcie's' description was briefly seen on the security camera feed. After that final clue, the young woman's trail finally disappeared.

On the other hand, her partner was a bit more known, having wandered slowly across the country coming up from the United States. More miracles sprang up in his wake - stories of a shadowy figure that could do the impossible. Stories like the one of the boy from Smallville, Kansas.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The friendly gas station attendant was very helpful and knew Mr. Ross well (which wasn't surprising, considering how small the town was). He kindly directed her to the local IHOP while filling up the tank of her rental car, after which Lois thanked and tipped him before she headed out to follow his directions through the hick town.

The place really lived up to its name, the tallest structure in the entire town being an old water tower decorated with the name of the tiny community - nothing like the skyscrapers that dominated the Metropolis skyline she had become accustomed to. Old pickup trucks puttered down the main road, a small eat-in diner boasted a neon sign advertising their pancakes, and a strolling couple walked their dog. It was even more Podunk than Podunk, if that was possible, and in no way did it seem like a place the laser-eyed man of steel she was tracking would ever call home. But it was a lead, and Lois was going to follow it out.

A rosy-cheeked manager in his early thirties greeted her at the door of the pancake restaurant, offering to seat her at a table, but Lois politely refused when she noticed his name tag.

"Pete Ross?" she asked, and he nodded with a cheery smile.

"Yeah, can I help you?"

"I'd like to talk to you about an accident that occurred when you were younger," Lois explained, adjusting her purse over one shoulder and cutting straight to the point. "Do you remember the school bus that went into the river?"

His smile faded at her mention of the event, but once they were seated at one of his booths, Mister Ross diligently related to her the story of the boy who had saved his life. Lois' sources had told her of the fateful day twenty years ago where a tire had blown on the Smallville High school bus as it was crossing the nearby river. The driver swerved to avoid an oncoming car and ended up going off the bridge, where by all rights the bus should have sunk and the students drowned. According to the library's archives of the Smallville school paper Lois had found, the bus had landed close enough to the bank for the driver to move it out of danger with its occupants mostly unharmed - but Pete told her otherwise.

They had splashed down in the deepest part of the river and water immediately began filling the bus. He remembered it rushing around his knees as he tried to reach the back of the vehicle where there was the least water when a classmate passed him. Clark Kent, one of the quieter students who was often bullied, managed to get the back door open just as the bus went completely under. The force of the current dragged Pete out of the safety of the vehicle, and the next thing he knew, Clark had grabbed him by his jacket and hauled him onto the bank where the bus was parked. A friend of Pete's told him that his rescuer had actually _pushed_ the bus out of the water.

It had been the talk of the town for months after that, and Pete's mom had firmly believed it was an act of God up until the day she died of cancer a few years back. It had calmed down since then and the incident was dismissed as a 'stress-induced hallucination' thought up by the kids and their active imaginations. The only person who truly knew what Clark had done was the boy's mother.

Lois managed to get the woman's name and address over a plate of pancakes before thanking the helpful manager and getting back on the road.

Typing the address into her GPS, it brought her down a long dusty road flanked by acres of corn and the odd farm until she finally found a mailbox labeled 'Kent'. A dirt driveway led to an old white farmhouse in need of a fresh coat of paint, with an even more ancient barn in the back, though she had to admit the small flower garden by the porch was beautiful. Lois exited her red rental and had just mounted the creaking steps of the farmhouse when a collie barked at her approach.

"Dusty! Hush, hush," a grey-haired woman hushed the dog as she came to the screen door, Dusty at her side.

"Mrs. Kent?" Lois asked, putting on a friendly smile. The older woman nodded in reply, eyeing the stranger's city clothes and east-coast-manners as Lois spoke.

"I'm Lois Lane, from the Daily Planet-"

Dusty barked again, also wary of the newcomer.

"Quiet!" Martha told him, and he obeyed. Lois, ignored the dog, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she continued.

"Mrs. Kent, I'm from the Daily Planet. I'd like to talk to you about your son."

The older woman paused and slowly gave the stranger a second look. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded, her face set as if she had been expecting this for a long time.


	20. The Lead

This chapter is dedicated to my epic beta - she's been super supportive and helpful throughout the entire writing, editing, and publishing process. I have no idea what I'd do without her, so I'm giving her a very small guest appearance in this chapter. Thank you so much! Additionally, we are back to our regularly-scheduled _Lois J. Lane being a badass investigative reporter_! Please enjoy, guys!

* * *

**Chapter 20: The Lead**

* * *

The first thing Darcie had done upon returning to civilization was check the news.

It was simple enough in a small north-Canadian fishing town with only one newspaper and two news channels - just borrow a phone. The smiling barista in the gas station was the perfect victim and more than happy to chat with an ignorantly handsome Clark, both unaware that the honey-blonde's device was missing. They were too busy discussing glasses frames and using 'Chloe's' spectacles as an example to notice Darcie in a nearby aisle scrolling through _The Daily Planet_ on a bright pink Nokia.

She had initially borrowed the device with the intention of checking for her Hunters or any missing person reports matching her description but quickly realized that Lex would be working beneath the usual radar. Finding any trace of her hunters would take time, something she didn't have at the moment, so she resolved to focus on the reporter.

Lane was a loose end, and the worst possible kind too. Not only was she an award-winning investigative reporter, but she also worked for one of the biggest newspapers in the world and was a professional at tracking stories (and people) down. Darcie inwardly fumed at having let the woman go, she would no doubt publish her findings on Ellesmere and it would be mere hours before Lex was back on her trail again. She would have to get Clark out of there fast, keeping him close and following the original plan of disappearing in a highly-populated, low-technology country. It would cost a bit more, but at least it would keep him safe...

Darcie had been absently scrolling through Miss Lane's listed articles on the _Daily Planet_'s website in search of the no doubt revealing article declaring the existence of aliens, but so far hadn't found much. It had been six days since they left her on the ice floe - she should have been rescued and written something by now, but there was… nothing.

A quick google search confirmed that Lane hadn't published a damn thing in the past two weeks, but Darcie wasn't convinced. Clark and the barista were finishing up their conversation, so she hurriedly delved a little deeper and managed to turn up a single piece with Lane's byline on some shitty news blog. It had been uploaded the day before and was backwater enough that no major news publishers had picked it up, yet the details were frighteningly accurate and there was no doubt that it was Lane's work.

Darcie quickly committed the article to memory, grimacing as she did. It wasn't quite as revealing as she had feared, but two things were painfully clear: Lane had seen aliens, and Lane was looking for them.

She managed to slip the phone back into Chloe's purse just as their coffees finished and plastered a smile on her face as she paid and accepted her drink. Her mask must have slipped at some point, enough for Clark to sense that something was amiss, but he didn't push it until they had left the gas station.

"So… what'd you find?"

"The reporter is looking for us," Darcie answered in a low voice.

Clark sipped from his drink, his warm breath misting in the freezing air. He looked different without his alien suit on - smaller, softer, shoulders only half-a-mile wide and his voice velvety when he sighed mournfully, "We'll have to disappear again."

"She's an investigative reporter, Clark, and nominated for a Pulitzer at that. This isn't like the other times we've had to disappear."

"Are you saying we should let her find us?" he frowned, clearly not favoring the idea, and Darcie shook her head.

"No, I'm saying that we should approach her," she explained, "Take the offense this time, not the defense."

Clark ran a hand through his unruly dark curls, deep in thought. There had been a few times before when someone had come close to figuring out his secret, but he had always managed to leave town before they asked too many questions. Living on the road meant he had almost no identity and very few papers, so following him was nearly impossible and he was usually able to shake the interrogators off within a few days. But approaching one? Letting himself be seen and possibly identified, letting someone discover his secret? Deep down, Clark longed to see Miss Lane again, at least to make sure that she was okay and that she hadn't been hurt too bad by the sentry and improvised cauterization. Seeing her, hearing her voice, experiencing her curiosity and intrigue... maybe it was worth his secret - if she could keep it.

"Maybe," he answered hesitantly to Darcie's idea, sipping from his paper cup, "I don't want to threaten her."

"We won't have to," came the reply. "If Miss Lane continues her investigation and inevitably learns more about what we can do, she will become a target for anyone wanting to find out about us. We can afford a few secrets in exchange for her keeping her mouth shut to avoid the publicity, and we all walk away as if it never happened."

Clark sighed again, watching his breath drift away in a cloud of steam, "You've really thought this all out, haven't you. I'm still not sure we should approach her, but say that we do. We'd need to find Miss Lane first."

"She's already looking for us, Boy Scout. It won't take her long to find out where you live, and I am willing to bet that she will arrive in Kansas a few days after us," Darcie answered him, then frowned thoughtfully, "Clark, I hate this just as much as you do, but we have no other choice without removing her entirely."

"Waitaminute, remove her from what now?"

She paused, turning slightly to look up at him beside her, all broad-shoulders and innocent blue eyes, and nearly told him that she was suggesting that they permanently remove investigative journalist Lois Lane from existence.

The reporter was going to find them, there was no doubt about that, and the moment she did, so would her Hunters. Darcie knew there was no way she could keep running and expect to keep Clark safe, to keep him protected from the danger that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Her only choice now was to fight. Condemning realization washed over her that she _would_ fight, she would fight for this ignorant, adorable, lonely, innocent Boy Scout. She would fight to keep him safe, she would fight to keep him _hers_. Fuck it all, there was no way in hell her past would touch a hair on his head without going through her first.

Darcie gritted her teeth, loathing and loving the reality of it all, but the curiously concerned look in his pure blue eyes quickly won her over.

"It doesn't matter, Boy Scout," she murmured, answering his previous question and resisting the urge to reach for his hand, "Let's get you home."

* * *

The cemetery was on the opposite side of Smallville from his house, he had explained during the drive south, but she got the sense that a piece of Clark's home was buried there too. He didn't talk about his dad much, though it was clear that he had had a large impact on his son's life and was loved very much by those who remembered him. Darcie personally had no close ties to any deceased and preferred to keep it that way, but she couldn't refuse when Clark asked if they could make a quick stop before arriving at the Kent Farm.

The driver they had hitchhiked with had been happy to drop them near the cemetery, wishing them cheerful farewell as they parted ways. Clark was familiar with the place, leading her through a spiked iron gate that surrounded the land, the atmosphere calm and quiet except for a chill winter breeze stirring autumn leaves across the paths. They followed the gravel path through a well-tended lawn dotted with oak-trees, taking a moment to enjoy the silence when Darcie stopped suddenly and swore under her breath. "She wasn't supposed to arrive yet."

Clark followed her gaze to a woman in a maroon blouse a few plots ahead of them. The last time he had seen her, she had been wearing a wool hat, but now her unmistakable strawberry-blonde locks were loose over her shoulders. There was no doubt in his mind that she was the reporter from his dreams as she bent down to brush a few dead leaves from the humble granite marker. The one with his dad's name on it.

The woman brushed her gorgeous hair from her face as she straightened, then froze, sensing that she was being watched. A smile crossed her face as if that was exactly what she wanted.

Clark caught himself swallowing nervously and glanced around for Darcie, but found that she had conveniently disappeared, though he could still hear her heartbeat nearby. He briefly wondered if he should follow her, to vanish again and keep his secret, his identity, his origin safe for a little bit longer, but Clark knew it was too late. No matter how strong he was, he wasn't strong enough to stop himself from obeying Fate's urging as he quietly approached the reporter.

Lois turned slightly at the sound of his footsteps on the gravel and smiled faintly as if proud of herself for finding him out.

"I figured you'd find me eventually if I turned over enough stones," she stated, crossing her arms as she turned fully to face him. Her gorgeous locks bounced when she moved, neatly framing her face and her piercing grey-green-blue eyes captured his entire attention as she looked him over, still smiling a little. Clark felt frozen to the spot under her gaze, suddenly found himself both lost for words and wanting to tell her everything, but couldn't do much more than shrug while quickly trying to come up with a decent response. Lois relieved him of the duty with a question, "Where's the other one?"

"Around," he answered simply, his thoughts clearing some, "She's still not quite sure about you. But then again, she's not quite sure about anybody."

Lois smirked at that, her sharp, inquisitive gaze looking him over again. Despite the cold weather, he was wearing a simple red flannel shirt and blue jeans, with a baseball cap pulled down to conceal most of his rugged features. There was no way he could be anything but a homegrown farm boy, his soft informal speech and gentle politeness quickly revealing that besides his dress, but there was no denying that he was still the same handsome man of steel that had rescued her on Ellesmere. That fateful half-hour had left Lois bursting with questions, and it was high time she finally got some answers.

Her fingers itched for her phone and the recording app on it, wanting only one thing more than to get this on record, but deep down she knew that this was not the time nor the place for an interview. Her research over the past two weeks had revealed a lot about this pair of Good Samaritans who only wanted to help and be accepted. Revealing them to the world would shatter any chances they had of Earth's kindly recognition - that could only be achieved through time and trust. Lois decided to give them just that, but not without getting her answers.

"Where are you from?" she asked, trying and failing to stem her flood of questions as she stepped towards him, "What are you doing here? How did you arrive on Earth? Tell me your story. _Let me_ tell your story."

Clark eyed her warily, instinctually stepping back as Lois got closer. A gust of wind came between them and Lois irritably shoved her hair out of her eyes, suddenly finding herself face-to-face with her other rescuer standing protectively in front of the farmboy.

"What if we do not want our story told?" the young woman challenged, frowning deeply and Lois swore her eyes sparked before Clark attempted to intervene.

"Darcie, we're not-"

"It's going to come out eventually." Lois argued, "Somebody's going to get a photograph or find out where you live. I did, and here you are."

The alien stiffened, eyes flashing dangerously at the idea of being found out, "We can just disappear again."

"The only way you could disappear for good is to stop helping people altogether, and I know that is not an option for you," she countered, thinking back on the trail of mysterious rescues that had led her to them. Lois had to admit, they were good at covering their tracks, but it was hard to do so when you were saving someone's life. And y they had continued to help wherever they could, risking their secret every time they came into the open where people could see them for who they truly were.

They both stiffened at her words, and Lois could tell that she had touched a nerve when they exchanged a nervous glance. Clark hesitated a long moment before stepping towards the grave beside her, removing his cap as he did. He stared mournfully at the modest headstone, crumpling the cap in his hands while trying to come up with the words.

"My dad… he believed that if the world found out who I really was, that they'd reject me. Out of fear," Clark said slowly, struggling to shut out the painful memories, "I'd never be able to do what I was sent here for. He died to keep that secret- to keep me safe."

"What happened?" Lois asked gently, sensing a deeper story, and willing him to reveal it. Clark paused again, taking a deep, calming breath before complying.

"A twister. Me and Mom got under the overpass in time, but he went back for my dog and… I-I couldn't save him. I just couldn't."

His shoulders shook slightly with each halting sentence, and a moment later Darcie was beside him again, offering some small comfort with her presence. Almost without realizing it, Lois recognized something she had never expected to see in an extraterrestrial with the strength to move mountains - he was grieving. Mrs. Kent's stories came back to her, detailing the close relationship between father and son. Jonathan Kent had been taken too soon and Clark had been forced to watch his father, mentor, and confidant die right in front of him, powerless to help despite his amazing abilities.

"I wanted to save him," Clark continued, looking down at his dad's grave, "Maybe I could have, maybe we both would have died, or maybe everyone would have seen what I did and hated me for it. But I let him die… because I trusted him. Because he was convinced that it wasn't time, that the world wasn't ready for me. I don't know if the time has come yet. There's a chance it never will.

"You know the world, Miss Lane, you tell it's stories. Now you know us and want to tell ours," he said softly, looking up to meet her gaze with hopeful eyes, "What do you think? Is the world ready?"

As a reporter, Lois had heard many a sob story and was used to the tears, having interviewed more than a few victims, refugees, and prisoners, yet this one was different. These two saviors only wanted to help a world that so desperately needed it, even if they had to do it in secret - if she told the world who they were, it would be nigh on impossible for them to continue. Humans were cruel creatures and hated what they did not understand, no matter how many pieces Lois wrote proving the good her rescuers represented. They would never be accepted. The world wasn't ready.

Lois shook her head, staring down at the grass regretfully.

"I'll keep your secret," she promised, and Clark nodded in thanks. Replacing the baseball cap on his dark curls, he headed for the cemetery gates with Darcie at his side, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She had worked so hard, chased so many trails to find them and discover how heavy the weight of the world sat on their shoulders, but she had only learned half of their story.

"Wait!" Lois called out, jogging after them. The two aliens paused, turning around just as she caught up and she addressed the younger woman, "I haven't been told your story."

Darcie's eyes lit up with a mixture of fear and anger, followed by conviction as she hurriedly tried to come up with a feasible lie before deciding the hard truth was better. "You don't need to know."

Lois frowned as the alien turned to leave, but was stopped by Clark's light touch on her arm.

"Dars," he reprimanded her gently and she looked up at him, silently pleading to be let out of the conversation, but he stood his ground, curious to know the answer to Miss Lane's question. Darcie sighed. "I don't want to have to break your arm, Boy Scout."

Clark seemed to consider for a moment before letting her go and she immediately turned back to Lois, and previous traces of fear replaced by a hardened look. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, Miss Lane. And for your own safety, I highly suggest you go home and forget that we exist."

"Is that a threat?" Lois pushed, deciding she wasn't going to let them scare her away. Darcie simply shook her head.

"Unfortunately not. The less you know, the less they can beat out of you in interrogation."

Lois had to admit that she had a point, but wasn't about to let them leave before they answered her final question.

"Will I see you again?" she asked. Clark shrugged, smiling shyly. "Maybe. With a bit of good luck, there's always a chance."

Darcie tugged gently at his shirtsleeve, silently reminding him that they couldn't stay long before she moved to shake Lois' hand. "Goodbye, Miss Lane. Keep your head down."

Lois nodded as the younger woman stepped away, and turned to Clark. He smiled as he shook her hand, his grip firm and friendly while Darcie's was a bit more businesslike.

"Stay safe. And good luck." he wished her. Lois couldn't help but grin at his words, watching her two no-longer-mystery people pick up their bags and start walking back towards the town. Their secret was safe with her.


	21. The Calm

This chapter is a bit longer than my average (this is just under 4k, I usually aim for about 2.5-3.5) and chock-full of fluff! Hold onto your hats, lads and lassies, because we're introducing yet another of the most badass women in the DC Extended Universe today!

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**Chapter 21: The Calm**

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The moment she walked into the bullpen, Lois knew she was in trouble. It didn't take an investigative reporter to guess what had happened with Lombard grinning idiotically at her from the sports desk.

"' Better watch out Lois!" he teased, jumping out of his chair to chase after her, "You got Chief in one of his moods with your leak. He knows your Woodburn's anonymous source and cannot wait to rip you a new one."

Lois sighed and resisted the urge to sock him in the nose as she set down her bag at her desk, ignoring the muffled chuckles from Lombard and some of the boys across the aisle. Normally she would have given them a bit more than a hard glare, but jetlag was taking its toll and she decided to save her energy for facing Perry.

Reaching his door, she paused to take a deep breath and pray he wasn't too mad before knocking to let herself inside.

The editor was looking over a stack of papers on his desk with his usual stormy disposition, which was quickly abandoned for a much darker one when he caught sight of her, "Lane!"

"Hey, Perry," she sighed, mentally steeling herself for the inevitable tirade that he immediately threw himself into.

"I told you not to run with this and what do you do?! You let Woodburn just shotgun it all over the Internet!" he roared, answering his own rhetorical question. "The publishers aren't happy, Lois - you could be looking at a lawsuit, and then where would you be?"

Lois looked away, acting as indifferent as possible even though the proposition scared her more than a little, but she knew he was just letting off steam and would blow himself out in a minute.

"Well, if it makes a difference..," she shrugged, "I'm dropping it."

"Woah, just like that?" he frowned, genuinely surprised knowing her headstrong nature. She answered with a short nod.

"Yep."

"What happened to your leads?" Perry interrogated, clearly suspicious, to which Lois shrugged again and tried her best to look disappointed.

"They didn't pan out. The story's smoke."

"Or perhaps it just didn't get the traction that you'd hoped it would," he corrected, shaking his head. Lois was a good reporter and always had good leads, meaning she had some other reason to keep the article she had likely already written off of his desk. He hated to do it, but Lane would have to be punished for pulling a stunt like this on company time and breaching her contract by leaking a potential story. "Pay the penance, Lane: two weeks of unpaid leave. You try something like this again, you're done here."

"Fine," she sighed, secretly grateful for such a light sentence and deeming the conversation over. Lois turned to leave before realizing her mistake when Chief shouted after her. "Let's make it three weeks since you're so willing to agree with me!"

That caught her attention, and she swiveled around to shoot him a dark look of protest. "Perry-!"

"No, no, don't," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. God, the only reason he'd hired this spitfire was that she was the best of the best, but on days like today, he questioned if her temper was worth her prose.

"I believe you saw something, Lois," he continued after a moment, "But not for a moment do I believe that your leads just went cold. You have your reasons for dropping it, and whatever they might be… I think you're doing the right thing."

Perry White, the hardest-assed newsman on the East Coast with printer's ink flowing through his veins, was supporting her rejection of the biggest story on the planet. Lois frowned at the unexpected praise, instantly suspicious. "Why?"

He sighed, pushing back from his desk with a pensive expression. Years of experience chasing after stories had taught him much - he knew what humans were capable of doing when afraid. He knew what they would do if Lois' story was true. Deep down, he knew that it was, but acknowledging that would only cause trouble. Instead, he leaned forward and flicked a pen towards Lane's troublesome article, the problematic leak that had started it all, conveniently tossed on his desk.

"Can you imagine how people on this planet would react if they knew there were people like this out there?"

Lois followed his gaze to glare down at the stapled pages of type, part of her wishing she had never written them and the other part wishing she could tell the whole world what they meant. But, she had to admit, Perry was right. Jonathan Kent was right. Darcie was right.

The world wasn't ready yet.

They had spent five days at the scout ship.

Most of the time was dedicated to exploring the ancient craft, talking with Jor-El, and learning how to fly (that is, without destroying any more mountains). Clark would have loved to stay longer, but the isolation and windblown silence were a little unnerving, and by the third day he was beginning to miss civilization. Darcie seemed relatively content reading through the ship's archives of space travel after having quickly gained a basic grasp of the Kryptonian language, and to Clark's mild horror also discovered the starcraft's armory. To his relief, she refrained from touching anything and after a day of mentally cataloging its contents decided that she too was ready to move on. The ship was unlikely to be disturbed that far north, so they would always be able to come back.

Flying under their own power was still a raw concept for both of them, so instead of flying hundreds of miles south to Kansas and risk being seen or tracked, the two aliens played it safe. They only flew as far as the nearest town of considerable size (quickly learning that the Kryptonian suits fared far better in high winds than regular clothes and that long hair tended to whip around less when it was tied back), and entered the town under cover of darkness to find a place to spend the night and get some new clothes (incidentally, both of them had left their duffles in the military camp on Ellesmere having expected to return later that night). A hot meal, long shower, quick shop, and good night's sleep later, the two Kryptonians managed to catch a ride south towards home.

They spent one-and-a-half weeks on the road.

Airplane tickets were expensive during the holiday month and too easily traced, so most of their traveling was done through hitchhiking. Long-haul drivers were all too happy to give them a ride in exchange for a nice chat, not that Darcie spoke much, but Clark was an exceptionally interesting conversationalist and had a knack for making acquaintances.

Reaching the border was easy enough, though they opted for quickly flying over under cover of night rather than go through the obnoxiously extensive process of crossing through border security. Another three days in cramped rigs on long highways brought them south, closing the distance to home.

They entered Kansas early on the eleventh day of their journey, having come down on Route 75 from Omaha. Nicknamed the Sunflower State, it was the thirty-fourth to join the US, with its capital located at Topeka, and it's largest city being Wichita (Darcie estimated that the latter was a bit over an hour's drive southwest of their current location). Kansas' main agricultural exports were wheat, beef, feed grains, and corn, among others, and Darcie could definitely confirm that she'd seen plenty of the harvested fields since entering the state early that morning.

Their current ride, an eighteen-wheeler headed for Kansas City, rumbled contentedly east on Rural Route Sixteen. It was a familiar and comforting sound after the last few months where hitchhiking in various rigs had been her primary mode of transport, the low noise accompanied by some decidedly country song playing on the radio as Clark chatted with the driver in the front seat. He had picked them up some twenty minutes earlier near the turnoff to Smallville Cemetery, having been the second rig to offer the travelers a ride. An oil hauler had stopped nearby nearly fifteen minutes earlier, but Clark had had to turn down the driver since Darcie had chosen that moment to mysteriously disappear and only return just as it was pulling away, glaring daggers at the LexCorp logo emblazoned on its side. Clark decided against mentioning it when he recognized the way she was trembling, opting instead to hold her hand until the panic attack passed and another truck stopped for them.

Darcie did her best not to show it, but the brief encounter with something linked to Lex had shaken her more than she would have liked to admit. She was pretty sure the driver knew nothing about a 'Project Stormkrigeren' on the loose - the hunting would likely have been left to more experienced mercs, yet the brush still left her feeling cold and alert for any sign of a threat.

Shifting her gaze out the window, she watched the rolling fields as the truck passed them by. A few weeks ago the land would have been full of ripe corn and wheat, but now there were only empty plots of land dotted with cut gray-brown stalks left from the harvest swaying in the breeze from passing cars. It looked calm and picturesquely autumnal despite the late winter's chill already in the air, somewhere where nothing ever happened. But something had happened. A reporter had found them, found their secret, and could easily reveal them to the whole world. It would be mere hours before the Hunters found her and dragged her back to the Rooms, but not before they finished with Clark.

Darcie inwardly shuddered at the thought and once again vowed to protect him the best she could, even if it cost her her life. She would die for him, but only if the reporter kept their secret. Despite the looming dislike Darcie felt towards the media, instinct led her to believe that Miss Lane could be trusted. She had to be - they had no other choice now.

"Hey. You awake?"

She tore her gaze away from the window to glance down at the hand gently tapping her knee to get her attention, then up at its owner smiling from the front passenger seat.

"We're almost there," Clark grinned, "It'll be on the left side, a driveway and little mailbox with KENT printed on it near the road."

"There?" the teamster asked, pointing out a dusty mailbox identical to his description. It was leaning beside a dirt road splitting off from the main highway, leading towards a farmhouse surrounded by a few other buildings in the distance.

"Yep! That would be it!" Clark confirmed proudly, and with a short squeal of the brakes, the rig slowed to a halt at the foot of the dirt driveway. Thanking the kind hauler, the passengers hopped out and were wished well with a short blast of the horn before the driver continued on his journey.

Darcie watched the eighteen-wheeler heading east down the highway for a few moments longer, eyesight unperturbed by the dust kicked up by its departure before she realized that Clark was no longer beside her. She glanced around and quickly spotted him nearby checking the mailbox, already at home in the familiar surroundings.

Finding the box empty, he shut it and adjusted the duffel strap on his shoulder, flashing her another bright smile as he started heading for the farmhouse. Darcie followed close behind, taking in the crisp autumnal scene of a farm on the verge of winter. The cornfields had already been harvested, leaving only short whispering stalks, and the oak trees near the road had shed their red-and-gold leaves the month before. Everything was gray and quiet, waiting for winter's snow, but still holding the silent beauty of fading autumn.

A dog barked somewhere, breaking the quiet, and Darcie tensed instinctively. Clark was undisturbed by the sound, but sensed his companion's nervousness and gave her a reassuring smile.

"It's just Dusty," he promised, and on cue a black-and-white collie appeared from behind the barn, breaking into an ecstatic sprint when it recognized one of the strangers. Within moments, the furry dog was jumping up to lick Clark's face, wagging his tail in elation as he moved to give Darcie an inquisitive sniff before welcoming her with a friendly woof. Practically dancing with joy, Dusty trotted between the pair and playfully nibbled his master's hand before deciding to run back towards the house, pausing once to glance back at them and make sure they were following. Clark laughed at the collie's antics, the sound ringing out over the fields as he beckoned Darcie to follow and jogged after the dog.

The driveway wound beneath some trees on the west side of the old farmhouse and ended in front of the ancient barn with its peeling red paint showing its age. The house and other buildings weren't in much better shape, but the golden light filtering through the kitchen windows and the birds twittering on the roof gave it a friendly, home-like feeling.

They rounded the corner into a large backyard to be greeted again by Dusty rolling in the grass near a modest vegetable patch. Not far from him, an older woman with graying hair who appeared to be in her mid-fifties was working in the patch pulling up carrots. Clark beamed at the sight of her, calling out, "Mom?"

The woman paused and turned around, a wide smile spreading over her face as she got up to greet them.

"Well, look at you!" she laughed, removing her sun hat as he came over before pulling her son into a warm hug, "My baby boy, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Mom," he chuckled, squeezing her gently and affectionately. Martha patted his back, pleased to have him home as she stepped out of the embrace and sighted the young woman behind him for the first time.

"Clark, aren't you going to introduce your friend?" she teased, and Clark chuckled as he beckoned Darcie closer.

"Mom, I'd like you to meet Darcie. Darcie, this is my mom, Martha."

The younger woman put on a bright smile and stepped forward to shake Martha's hand, "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kent. Your son is a true gentleman."

"He gets it from his dad." she replied, eyeing her thoughtfully before grinning, "I really am so excited to finally meet you, I was beginning to think Clark'd never settle down and bring a girl home."

Clark blinked, confused, and Darcie quickly disproved the misunderstanding with a shake of her head.

"Mrs. Kent, I'm not his girlfriend," she explained, "We're more along the lines of fellow survivors, or-"

"We're kin," he finished for her and Martha looked back at the young woman in surprise, taking in the similar shades of dark hair and blue eyes.

"Kin?"

"Mom," Clark said softly, "I found them."

Martha looked confused for a brief moment before realization dawned on her, her son doing his best to contain his excitement so he could break the news to her gently. "I found my parents. My people. I know where I come from now. Darcie… She's family."

His mom gasped softly, all her previous suspicion of the young woman now gone and replaced with excited awe. "Wow. That's wonderful! I'm so glad you two found each other!"

Darcie smiled politely and was about to reply something in agreement when the older woman pulled her into a motherly hug. She tensed at the physical contact and Clark noted the fear in her eyes of an unprovoked attack, remembering the way she had panicked the first time he had tried to hug her. He considered stepping forward to help, but Darcie recognized that no harm was meant and even patted Martha's back in return, though a bit awkwardly.

Martha stepped back with tears in her eyes, smiling faintly at the young woman in front of her and everything she represented. All those years spent watching her boy grow up, she had been too scared to believe he would ever know where he came from or get the chance to reunite with his people. And now he had brought one home, and not just another of his alien-kind, but his _family_. It was too good to be true, but it was, and frankly a bit overwhelming.

Martha caught herself wiping her eyes as she sat down on the porch steps, looking out over the yard and the empty fields beyond. Her son's bright smile faltered when he sensed that she had something weighing heavy on her mind and he hesitated a moment before turning to his companion, "Darcie, um, can we have a minute? Just me and Mom?"

A flicker of confusion and mild hurt crossed her face before she caught on, nodding politely to Martha before scooping up her bag and disappeared around the side of the house. Dusty playfully chased after her, leaving mother and son alone to talk when Martha suddenly stood up.

"Why'd you send her off?" she protested, "Call her back, that was rude of you, Clark, treating a guest like that-"

"It's all right, Mom," he assured her gently, sitting down on the steps she had just vacated, "She was itching to go look around, so I gave her permission and us a moment to set your mind at ease. What's wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Martha had to smile at that. The boy was Jonathan's son, no matter what world he came from, always willing to help before he even knew the problem.

"It's nothing," she assured him, but Clark's patient silence proved that he knew otherwise. She told herself again that it was nothing, she had nothing to be worried about. The mortgage was paying off fine, the harvest had been good, the property was in decent condition, her job was steady, and the old truck ran as great as it had last time he'd visited. And still, Martha couldn't relieve that motherly worry creeping up on her, worrying about the world's promise to tear her son away the moment it got a chance. Clark couldn't stay - that was what worried her.

"I'd always hoped you'd find where you came from," she said slowly, finding herself sitting down beside him and fiddling with the edge of her sunhat as she spoke, "You were always so fragile as a baby, always struggling to breathe, struggling to eat. I would lay by your crib at night, just in case, but I still worried all the time.

"We must've told you before," Martha continued, "but at first Jonathan and I thought you were an experiment sent up into space. We thought the government would show up at our door to take you back, but we swore we would never let that happen. Your Dad was ready to fight to keep you… but no one ever came. It was then that we knew you must have come from somewhere beyond our little planet, somewhere out there among the stars. You had another family you might never know, and deep down a part of me hoped you never would so you… so you could stay with us."

Martha sniffed, turning away so he wouldn't see the tears that sprang in her eyes as he comforted her with a strong arm around her shoulders, holding his mother in a gentle embrace. Clark hated leaving her alone for so long to run the farm by herself, she needed someone to help her and by all rights it should have been him, but they both knew that he needed to find his people. And after years of searching, he had finally succeeded.

"You have someone like you now," Martha said in a low voice, "You're not alone anymore."

Clark shook his head, smiling gently, "I was never alone. I had you and Dad."

"I know, but- I'm just… I'm worried you'll have to leave again," Martha replied tearfully only for her son to hug her close.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mom," he assured her, "I promise."

Clark sealed the promise with an affectionate kiss to her temple, and Martha smiled through her tears. She had no idea how long he would be able to keep his word, but she hoped it would be a long, long time.

Brushing a few stray hairs from her face, she dabbed her eyes with the corner of her sweater when Dusty reappeared to help by licking his mom's cheeks until she burst out laughing, "Dusty! Off with you, you silly dog!"

The collie obediently retreated and ran off around the farmhouse again, probably in search of the visitor while Clark helped his mom to her feet.

"Oh, look at me, sobbing over my big boy growing up when y'all're probably starving," Martha chided herself with a soft chuckle, patting his shoulder affectionately. She knew how big of an appetite he had, and Lord only knew what sort of food he could afford when living on the road.

"Come on, call Darcie," she ordered, climbing the porch steps to the back door, "There should be the makings of some casserole in the fridge."

Clark smiled as his mom stepped inside the house, admiring her ability to bounce back from challenging situations. She was strong and resilient and full of encouragement, never one to let a bad day cloud her smile and always there to help him when he needed it.

He inhaled deeply of the clear, fresh farm air, enjoying the sights and smells of home after months of living on the unfamiliar road. Clark nearly started humming as he made his way past the ancient red barn towards the now-harvested south field, following the sound of Darcie's heartbeat.

He found her seated in the bed of the old and rusting pickup truck that had been parked in the grass there since he was ten, entertaining herself by expertly flipping a knife over her fingers in what looked like some sort of game. Dusty lay on the ground nearby gnawing at a tennis ball, signaling Clark's approach with perked ears and Darcie set aside her knife to look up at him as he leaned against the side of the truckbed.

"Hey," he grinned, glancing at the blade as she tucked it away beneath her coat. It'd taken a few weeks, but Clark had finally gotten used to her carrying small weapons around simply because they made her feel safer, though the one she had now wasn't the usual Ka-Bar. It was dark silver and unevenly serrated like shattered stone, similar to the ones in the Kryptonian armory on the scout ship which she obviously hadn't been able to resist. He let out a tired sigh, earning an apologetic half-smile from Darcie, but Clark wasn't about to be upset about her claiming a small piece of their heritage when he had just returned home.

"You hungry?" he asked, his smile returning as Darcie reached down to pat the collie, "My mom makes a mean casserole, though I'm sure she'd appreciate someone who's good with knives to chop the carrots."

Darcie had to chuckle at that, nodding as she hopped out of the truck bed and adjusted her duffle over her shoulder before following him back to the old farmhouse, Dusty at their heels. Clark found himself humming an old favorite of his dad's as they walked. It was good to be home.


	22. The Fear

Quick, very vague, chapter summary: Martha is an absolute #countrymama, Clark is a total #countryson, and Darcie #doesntknowhowtocope. This is _**NOT**_ a Clark Kent x OFC fic - I am a solid**_ Clois _**fan and honestly can't bear to see Boy Scout with anyone but Lo. This chapter just expands on how innocently affectionate he is, and you have to understand that at this point in time he honestly believes that Darcie is the only other Kryptonian left, and that is a huge relief for him + something he would really want to protect/cherish having grown up all lonesome.

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**Chapter 22: The Fear**

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There had been a few reporters before, mostly small-town ones who had heard rumors about her boy. Jonathan had always managed to politely shoo them off all whilst chuckling at the insane notions they brought up, but the moment they left he would start worrying again.

Now Martha was worried. The woman who had shown up at her door - 'Lois Lane' she'd said her name was - wasn't just another small town rumor-chaser, but a big city investigative reporter who had _seen_ Clark using his powers. Martha had tried her best to seem undisturbed by the lady's forwardness and had invited her in for a cup of tea, quietly answering each firm question put to her. No, she had not seen her son recently, he was off traveling. No, she hadn't heard anything from him recently, but she knew he was in Canada and she wasn't too worried about him. No, she didn't know of any young woman he might be traveling with, was Miss Lane sure the man she had met really her boy?

Miss Lane had hesitated there, but remained insistent and changed her tactic, asking why Clark was traveling so far from home. A lump formed in Martha's throat at that one, but she answered truthfully that her boy had started his wanderings as soon as he left college, a few years after his father had passed away.

The conversation delved into Jonathan and Clark's relationship, how the man had died, and where he was buried. Miss Lane had seemed satisfied after that (Martha still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not) and had politely thanked her for the interview and the tea before going on her way.

Martha told herself repeatedly that the reporter was of no concern, there had been plenty of reporters before, but two cups of tea later she was still a bundle of nerves. Eventually, she forced herself to get back to her chores to get her mind off the visitor, dutifully changing the sheets on her bed and hanging the laundry out to dry in the crisp air (she had a clothes dryer, but still preferred doing it the old-fashioned way when she could). After that, the winter carrots needed pulling, so Martha had put on her gardening shoes and gotten down to it. She had been halfway through harvesting and still worrying about the lady reporter when her boy returned.

The joy of seeing him again nearly cleared the dark thought from her mind, and meeting Darcie, his only surviving kin, pushed it away entirely. That evening was the happiest she had seen Clark in years, the way he pranced with Dusty and smiled with every word made his mom feel young again. He had insisted on helping her make dinner, and with Darcie's assistance, they had a steaming chicken-and-carrot casserole ready not long after sunset.

Having finished her serving and pausing between the next one, Martha casually watched the dark-haired young woman across the table. Only in her dreams had she ever imagined that Clark would discover where he came from, much less find one of his relatives and bring her home. His mother wondered when was the last time a young woman had come to visit and suddenly remembered Miss Lane.

"A reporter came by here," Martha stated, drawing her son's attention. Miss Lane had gotten dangerously close to discovering him if she had made it to the farm, meaning Clark might need to disappear again on one of his long travels in order to protect his secret. She hated how the world constantly kept her boy on his toes, never allowing him to settle down and find a spot of peace, and Martha had half-hoped the discovery of his people might bring him just that. But his visit home had only brought pain and a reason to leave again without her knowing when he might return.

To her surprise, Clark actually smiled at her mention of the woman and nodded as if the disturbance caused was of little importance. He liked Lois' persistence and curiosity that had led her to hunt him down all the way out here in the middle of rural Kansas, but she was also honest and trustworthy and willing to keep his secret safe. She was nice, he decided, and deep down he wished his secret wasn't the only thing connecting them.

Clark realized that he hadn't replied to his mother, having been busy remembering Lois' bright smile and grey-green eyes, and made up for it by patting her hand. "It's all right, Mom, she's a friend. Don't worry."

Darcie shot him a look across the table that said she wasn't quite as comfortable with placing any trust in Miss Lane, and Martha found the feeling mutual. She was still a little reluctant to be sharing secrets like the fact that her boy, and now the young woman seated opposite her, were aliens from outer space, a secret she'd guarded ever since Clark first came to Earth, a secret her husband had died for, with someone who could so easily expose them to the world. But they both kept their peace and hoped the 'friend' would do the same.

"You arrived just in time to help pick the winter apples," Martha spoke up, changing the subject. "The pink ladies are coming in nicely. I was going to start harvesting next week."

"I noticed you got the corn in too. Everything go alright?" Clark asked and his mother nodded.

"Ben Hubbard came down at harvest to help with the heavy machinery in return for a portion of the bushels, and we were considering pulling the garden too, but now that you're here it shouldn't be a problem. And of course Darcie will be a great help if she wants to stay."

Darcie looked up at the mention of her name. "I can stay?"

"Of course!" Martha beamed, "Stay as long as you like, or until you need to go back to your family."

The younger woman paused, intently studying the ancient table's wood grain for a long moment.

"I… don't have a family to go back to," she muttered almost to herself before speaking up and meeting Martha's inquisitive gaze, "I don't want to be a burden, ma'am."

"Dars, I'm pretty sure you being a burden is nigh on impossible," Clark chuckled, rejoining the conversation.

"Oh… All right. Thank you."

"No, thank you! It's been a long time since I saw my boy this happy." Martha smiled, squeezing her son's hand affectionately before turning back to Darcie, "What did you say your last name was again?"

"Hunt. Darcie Hunt," she answered, swallowing the nervous tension in the back of her throat, and Clark shook his head.

"She means your real one, not the one you made up."

"I-I don't have a last name."

"What about the people who raised you? They didn't give you one?" Martha asked, radiating concern, and Darcie barely hid the quiver in her voice as she shook her head.

"No… I'm sorry, can you please excuse me for a moment?"

Before they could reply, the screen door was swinging shut behind her as her footsteps receded off into the dark.

Her intention was to run, to run as far and as fast as she could until she found somewhere safe where the pain of remembering couldn't find her. But something stopped her in her tracks before she had even crossed the wide yard, and she froze in indecision. If she left, she doubted they would ever accept her back after leaving so suddenly without an explanation or even a thank you for the meal. If she left, she would be on her own again. Being alone was good, no one to slow her down, no one to try and stop her, but though she was loath to admit it, she secretly dreaded the idea of being alone again.

The Outside hurt, and not just on the outside, but on the inside too. She felt too many emotions tumbling around in her head, confused, muddled up, mixing together, and it hurt. Everything hurt, even the sounds and sights hurt, and she hated it, hated having to ignore it all and pretend she was normal when for her, normal had never existed.

Darcie punched the air in frustration, lashing out at the dark wintry sky as she tried to forget. Her fists came faster and faster, adding a pattern of jabs and hooks and uppercuts, even a few kicks as she fell into the rhythm of a routine. Aim high, duck low, a punch, a jump, a kick, dodging, weaving, striking, the moves coming quick and fast to the beat of her boots on the cold grass. She focused all her pain and hatred and fear into the fight, not thinking, only moving, but somewhere in the back of her mind she was hoping she'd work herself hard enough for the bad things to go away. That's how the world worked, you did what you were told and did as much as you could, and the reward would be a little bit of happiness.

Darcie continued the routine, suddenly feeling detached and empty. It was becoming harder to keep up the hard pace she set for herself, and she dimly recognized that her body was trembling from exhaustion, but instead of slowing down, she only punched faster.

Clark had appeared at some point, standing on the back porch lit by the golden glow from the kitchen. He watched silently with his hands in his pockets and a small frown on his face, but he didn't try to stop her. She refused to acknowledge his presence and wished he'd go away. There was something about him, his kind, gentle strength, his soft gaze, and the way he always managed to do or say the right thing made everyone around him want to do the same. Darcie didn't want to be guilted into stopping, so she did her best to ignore him as she beat the air until her legs gave out.

She found herself on the cold ground, trembling a little and staring up at the dark sky, the usual swath of stars hidden by the clouds. Soft clouds, clouds didn't hurt, clouds meant thunderstorms and she loved thunderstorms. Darcie closed her eyes and tried to think of soft thunderclouds, but Clark's approaching footsteps were too loud of a distraction.

"Hey," he said softly, crouching down beside her, but she refused to open her eyes when she answered.

"Hey."

"You're going to get cold laying out here."

"I would've thought you knew me better by now," she said, catching herself about to chuckle and he grinned.

"What, you mean the fact that you don't get cold, or you just refuse to?"

She had to smile at that, reluctantly sitting up and wincing a little at the movement.

"Does it always hurt this much?" she asked before half-wishing she hadn't admitted to being in pain as it proved her weakness, but Clark just shrugged.

"Only sometimes. You sort of learn to shut it all out. My mom says when it gets too much you should close your eyes and try to concentrate on one thing, like an island far out in the ocean, or a snowy mountaintop among the clouds."

"And it works?"

"Yeah, most of the time," he answered, his breath billowing out in a cloud of steam as he leaned his head back to follow her gaze up to the dark sky, "Other times you just have to wait it out. It'll get better, it always does."

She nodded, considering the advice while trying to ignore the warmth radiating from him, both physical and emotional. Nearly every day since she's met him she'd had to remind herself that an emotional connection would only bring more pain when she would have to sever it, but then she realized it was too late. Looking up at the tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed farmboy beside her, Darcie knew he was the only person in the entire world that she trusted wholeheartedly enough to allow herself to relax just a little and accept the strong hand when it slipped into hers.

Clark didn't seem surprised by her assent, but gently squeezed her palm and massaged her scarred knuckles thoughtfully for a few moments before speaking up, "I'm sorry about Mom, I know she can come across a little… curious sometimes, but she's real nice once you get to know her."

"It's fine," Darcie assured him, "They were normal questions. It's my fault for panicking the way I did."

He opened his mouth to protest something along the lines of her being justified in leaving, but thought the better of it. "Dars?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What you said about not having a family or home to go back to… it's true, ain't it," he said softly and she paused for a long moment before nodding.

"Yeah."

That was it, the terrible oppressing cloud over her entire existence. She was lost, abandoned, and abused by the world, never to be fully accepted, forever to be alone. The thought made her want to run again, far away to where the bad things couldn't find her. Darcie stood up intending to sprint towards the road, but the warm hand in hers kept her grounded and gently brushed away any thoughts of leaving.

Clark stood with her, letting go of Darcie's hand as he stepped towards her to gently wrap his arms around her in a hug. She tensed up immediately, eyes flickering red and fists curling to defend herself, but something in his warm embrace promised that here she would never need to do so. Darcie found herself relaxing into his arms, breathing in his sun-kissed evergreen scent as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"You've got me," he assured her gently, "I'm your family. This is your home now."

The tender words stirred up an emotion in her she wasn't familiar with, a warm, soothing, safe feeling, one that didn't hurt like all the other ones writhing inside her head. She didn't know how to reply with words to such a gift but reached up to put her arms around his neck, returning the hug.

"Thank you, Boy Scout."

Clark seemed to blush at that, pulling out of the hug slightly to look her in the eye.

"Dars?"

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

He felt her tense at his words, the shadow of a flinch crossing her face. She was going to say no, he fully expected her to say no and he respected that, but he had at least wanted to try…

She nodded, slowly.

She had said yes.

Clark paused, a little stunned and not quite sure what to do with her consent, but somehow his lips found hers and she did not pull away, but let him come closer, let him make it real. It wasn't a soft peck like the first one, or a tender kiss like the ones after - it lasted only the briefest moment, yet felt the longest of them all. Safe and small and quiet and saying exactly what both of them felt but neither could say.

Darcie froze when he kissed her but made no move to escape his gentle embrace, just standing in his arms with her lips pursed as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with his warmth lingering there. After a moment she decided to wipe her face on the back of her hand, and Clark would have laughed at that if she hadn't looked so endearingly confused. Instead, he brushed her dark hair from her forehead and leaned down to kiss her temple, whispering as he did, "I love you, Dars."

She blinked, staring at him with her stormy azure eyes as if expecting him to take it back or deny it, but… he didn't. Clark only smiled shyly, looking the smallest bit embarrassed at his confession, yet in no way regretted what he'd said. It took her a moment to realize that but when she did, Darcie smiled too.


	23. The Farm - Part I

Hello! I hope all y'all are staying safe! Here's the next chapter all ready for you to enjoy! A few quick notes before you start:

I had originally intended for this chapter and the next one coming in two weeks to be one piece maybe 3k long, but obviously I went a little overboard with the fluff and had to split it into two parts (funny thing, this chapter is exactly 3001 words long, #nailedit).

Y'all are in store for a lot of Martha being a Country Mom™ in these next chapters! I really tried to make her one of the prominent figures in this section because I **love** Clark's relationship with her in the DCEU, I think it's got to be one of the most special and important things for someone like him to have a mom like her growing up simply because of all the struggles Clark had even in a good family in a safe community growing up.

Finally, once again, I'd like to make it very clear that this is a _**Clois**_ fic and Darcie & Clark's relationship is honestly more 'storge'/'philia' love than the 'pragma'/'eros' sort of love associated with shipping. This is my attempt at writing familial affection instead of romantic affection because I think the former is way underrepresented in a lot of works despite there being so many prompts for it, so I hope y'all like it!

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**Chapter 23: The Farm - Part I**

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He woke to the shock of having a hand clamped over his mouth.

Panic washed over him for the briefest moment before the attacker released him in favor of turning the bedside lamp on. Clark blinked in the sudden light, sleepily raising himself up onto his elbows when Darcie came into view beside him. "Clark."

"What? What're you doin' in here?" he asked, waking up a little more and taking in the fact that she was dressed and her hair damp from the shower despite it still being dark out.

"I am here to ask if I am allowed to use some of the food in the kitchen," she answered firmly, stating her purpose for being in his bedroom. Clark blinked again, his gaze flitting between her and the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly five in the morning - not an unreasonable time for her to be awake, in fact, knowing Darcie's tendency to get up around four he'd say she slept in (he personally couldn't imagine waking quite that early and preferred sleeping till nearly six).

"Yeah, go ahead," Clark nodded, answering her question. She was probably just hungry and didn't want to wait three hours for breakfast, which was fine by him.

"Can I use the computer too?" she requested, then quickly amended, "Only for a few minutes."

Clark nodded his permission again, rolling onto his side to face the wall away from the bright lamp. He was dimly aware of Darcie turning it off and quietly leaving the room as he closed his eyes, pulling the comforter back up around his shoulders. He technically didn't need the sleep, but the familiar bed was warm and it'd been so long since he'd slept in his bed at the old farmhouse…

What felt like moments later, Clark was blinking again in the cold sunlight peeking through the blinds of his bedroom window. He lay there for a long moment, still slowly waking up to realize that a new day had arrived, and with it the scent of freshly brewed coffee. There was something else in the air, one he didn't dare hope to associate with blueberry pancakes, but the hope was enough to get him up and out from beneath the warm covers.

In a few minutes, Clark had showered, dressed, and generally prepared himself for the day before making his way downstairs, following the heavenly scent. It wasn't too hard to trace it back to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of a happy collie, breakfast, and Darcie at the sink diligently cleaning the last dregs of pancake batter from a mixing bowl.

"Good morning," she greeted him evenly as Clark bent down to pat Dusty when the dog trotted over to say hello.

"Good morning," he returned, his gaze flitting between the fresh pancakes and full coffee maker, "You made breakfast."

Darcie nodded, turning away from the sudsy sink to point out the breakfast plate he had already spotted, "I found a recipe for blueberry pancakes online, and in the fridge, there should be a small fruit salad I made earlier, but if you're still hungry afterward, I can make some eggs."

"Dars, you didn't have to do all this," Clark assured her, chuckling softly at the confusion that crossed her face at that.

"I-I wanted to help in some way," she insisted, and he smiled.

"I know, Dars, and you're doing an amazing job, but at this rate, there'll be nothing left for me to do!" Clark replied, half-teasingly but entirely serious about there being almost no jobs left for him to help with, "How about I finish up the dishes? Would that be all right?"

Darcie paused, still holding a dripping sponge in one hand before she nodded slowly, obviously a little reluctant to share out the chores after being so used to doing everything herself. She surrendered the duty eventually and allowed him to take the sponge and her place at the sink while she grabbed a mug for a fresh cup of coffee. Clark saw her pause at the cupboard, head to one side for a long moment before she fetched another mug, and filled both with steaming brew. Moments later, his mother appeared in the kitchen doorway as if summoned by magic (or more likely, the wonderful scent of dark coffee), already washed and dressed for work in her blue Sears shirt and slacks.

"Good morning, early birds," Martha beamed at them, moving to greet her son with a kiss on the cheek, though she had to stand on tiptoe to reach. Clark chuckled softly and kissed her back, "'Morning, Mom."

"Are those blueberry pancakes? You already made breakfast?"

"Actually, Darcie did," he corrected her gently.

"Really? They look delicious!" Martha crooned, turning to the younger woman, "Thank you so much, Darcie!"

"You're welcome, Ma'am," she answered simply, holding out a warm mug of steaming coffee to her, "It's just black, though I can get the milk and sugar if you like."

"Oh, a few drops of milk would be perfect," Martha assured her, sitting down at the kitchen table. Within moments Darcie had provided her with the milk, along with a plate, breakfast utensils, and the fruit salad before stepping back to let Martha serve herself.

"You know, I was thinking last night," the older spoke up, adding a little of the fruit to her dish, "and I realized I never asked how you two met!"

Clark paused, caught in the action of tucking a dripping mixing bowl into the drying rack. He had meant to tell his mom all about it, but it wasn't exactly a polite story considered they'd met in a pub and he'd basically helped her steal and destroy a truck-

"I nearly beat up a drunk molester and Clark helped me calm down afterward," Darcie answered simply and concisely.

Martha blinked, looking mildly surprised, but nodded calmly at the news as she turned to her son, "So I'm assuming it's a long story."

"Yes, Ma'am," he sighed.

"Well, I'm just happy you found each other. You'll have to tell me more some other time, I'd better get on my way - my shift is going to start soon and I'd promised Missus Dubois I'd help her open up this morning. Did you two have any plans for today?"

"I was thinking of fixing the dry rot up in the front porch roof," Clark replied, "It's starting to affect the joists pretty badly and I'd thought I'd use the old wood in the barn to replace 'em. You can help too, Darcie, if you want."

Darcie, who had been listening politely during the exchange, perked up at her name when Martha shook her head.

"Oh, Clark, don't get started on repairs the first day you're home. Why don't you take our guest on a tour of the farm? I'm sure she'd love to have a look around," Martha insisted, sipping delicately from her warm drink when she spotted the clock, "Goodness, it's nearly eight, I'd better be on my way now if I'm going to open up shop."

Clark dried his hands on a dishtowel as his mom hurried to fetch her purse and employee tag, following her to the front door just as Martha grabbed the truck keys from their hook. She listed off a few instructions as he helped her into her coat, reminding him to feed Dusty and check that the barn doors were closed properly and if he finds her reading glasses to please put them on her desk. Clark nodded and promised to do so as he walked her out to the old pickup, waiting patiently in the cold morning until the engine started before waving goodbye as Martha pulled out of the driveway.

He stood for a minute, watching the truck rumble down the highway towards town and trying to remember the last time he had been around to see his mom off to work. It must have been around Easter, to be honest, and Clark found that he had sort of missed the mundanity of spending his days on the farm and evenings with his mom. It was nice to have steady company and a warm, familiar spot to lay his head after living on the road so long, checking every corner for answers he might never find. But he had found them, and now there was one more person to spend his precious down-time at home with.

Clark turned back to the farmhouse to spot the young woman in question standing on the porch, hands tucked behind her back as she looked up at the ancient rafters. He smiled and mounted the steps to gently touch her arm, "We can fix them later. I want to show you around first."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her gaze shifting from the roof down to him, "It looks pretty bad, and I don't mind doing it now."

"I'm sure," he assured her, "Come on, let's get you a coat - ' weather's startin' to get a bit cold and we don't want anyone spotting you in just a tee."

Darcie nodded and followed him back inside to be greeted by an exuberant Dusty as Clark moved to survey the coat closet. It was easy to tell that none of Martha's jackets would fit her (the younger woman was surprisingly - but not unattractively - broad-shouldered) but most of his were too bulky, so Clark compromised with one of his light-gray hoodies that had shrunk a bit in the laundry. Once she was decently kitted out in her new hoodie and old boots, he grabbed his favorite sweater and they headed outside with Dusty at their heels.

The landscape wasn't nearly as pretty in winter as it was in summer - the sky was usually clouded, the trees had lost their leaves and all the fields lay harvested, but there were still a few interesting spots where the farmland retained its beauty even in the cold. Unfortunately, Clark couldn't think of any such places so he showed her the vegetable patch near the back porch instead.

The small fenced-in area was nearly empty except for a few winter cabbages, though Dusty found it interesting enough and spent a long minute sniffing around the chicken-wire, much to Darcie's amusement before they moved on. Next was the empty chicken house which had been full of clucking mothers when Clark was growing up, then the tractor shed where the machinery was stored when it wasn't in use, the tree his dad had planted when the Kents first moved onto the farm, and the pump that still worked sometimes if you pulled the handle long enough.

Clark led her past the threshing barn and down a faint path, their boots crunching on the frosted grass as they made their way towards a large dip in the fields where a sparse copse of cottonwoods had chosen to spread their boughs. The trickle of running water reached their ears as they approached, and Darcie caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting off a stream that emptied into the depression, creating a wide creek beneath the trees.

"It's our swimming hole," Clark explained, pointing out a large, flat rock at the water's edge, "Me and Dad would go fishing from that boulder in the summer, and when the weather got too hot we'd go swimmin' in the deep end. Come first snow, though, and it'll freeze right over until spring comes 'round again."

Darcie only nodded in reply, hands shoved in the front pocket of her hoodie as she looked out over the creek, "It's very quiet."

"Yeah. I used to come here a lot when I was little, to get away from everyone- get away from the noise. Even after I learned how to focus my powers this was always my safe place, but I sort of stopped coming after a while."

"After your Dad died?" she guessed. Clark had barely noticed the lump in his throat until she said the words, a flood of unexpected emotion washing over him as he nodded slowly and quickly changed the subject.

"C'mon. I'll show you 'round the threshing barn."

The threshing barn was an enormous ancient structure that had certainly seen better days, but still had some of the old midwestern charm about it with it's peeling red paint and wooden beams. After years of disuse, it's empty floor was now populated with his dad's old tools and workbenches instead of harvested crops. Darcie was possibly the closest to overjoyed he had ever seen when Clark gave her permission to touch some of the stored equipment, and likely would have spent the rest of the day trying to piece together a baler motor from a box of rusted parts if he hadn't nudged her on with a promise to come back later.

Clark led her to the far side of the musty barn, kicking aside some loose straw until he found the tell-tale line between the dilapidated floorboards. He smiled and quickly located the metal ring attached to the wood, the ancient hinges squealing in protest as he lifted it upwards to reveal the hidden storm cellar.

Darcie followed him down into the dark hole, hesitating on the steps as she peered into the darkness and her eyes automatically adjusted to take in the sight, "Oh… Fuck."

"Just don't say that around my mom," Clark sighed, "She'll wash your mouth with soap - guest or not."

She dismissed the warning with a curt nod, stepping past him to touch the familiar curving emblem on the face of the extraterrestrial object. Something deep inside her had known what it was the moment she had laid eyes on it. "This is your ship. This is how you got here."

It shared the same naturalistic design as the spacecraft they had discovered on Ellesmere, though this one seemed to be built for speed rather than exploration. The craft was small, the size of a tractor at best, but sleek and strong and apparently quite fast if the alien engine taking up over half the vessel's area was anything to go by.

"It is," Clark answered, running a hand over its dusty outer shell, "Mom and Dad found me in it, out in the south field. I must've been a few months old at the time. ' Thought me and the ship were some sort of Soviet experiment at first and that the government would be out to get me, but no one ever came. Dad hid my ship under the barn until I was about thirteen before showing it to me, and it's been here ever since."

He turned slightly to face her, noting the way she was distractedly fingering the Key around her neck that was usually hidden beneath her shirt.

"What about your ship, Dars? D'you know where it is?"

She paused at the question, wavering with uncertainty before finally answering, "They only told me that I had arrived somewhere in northern Norway, but… I doubt it's there anymore."

Clark held back his urge to press for details, to learn more about her shadowed past. Their connection was a little odd - they knew each other's deepest secret and were both pretty good at reading the other's emotions, but Clark still knew almost nothing about his fellow survivor. Nearly every day he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from asking questions that clearly brought up bad memories for her, so he quickly directed her attention elsewhere before either could dwell on the unspoken past.

"Let's get outside and walk 'round the cornfields," he suggested, maybe a little too abruptly but Darcie didn't seem to notice and followed him back up to ground level.

After making sure that the cellar door was closed and the entrance thoroughly hidden beneath the straw, he led her out of the old threshing barn towards the western side of the yard where a wide trail split off from the driveway. The path was large enough to accommodate a tractor when planting and harvesting time came around, and cut through the west field all the way up to the fence between the Kent and Lang farms before running alongside it all the way around the property. In summer the trail would be walled in by tall corn stalks on either side, the sky only visible as a blue line above one's head, but in the winter months all that was left of the corn were hard little stumps usually buried in the snow surrounded by a wide gray sky.

The first snow hadn't arrived yet that year to cover the stumps but Darcie didn't seem to notice the ground at all, her gaze focused on the heavy clouds above. She could feel it in the air, the slight electric chill right before the storm, though the weak wind would likely only result in heavy drizzle at most. Darcie has always had a fascination with weather, especially wind and rain and storms (which seemed terribly ironic considering her first human name, but she diligently ignored the fact). Even after nearly four months in the Outside, she was still in awe of just how large the sky could be, and how beautifully dangerous it was. The power of flight only made it all the more alluring.

"It's a little overcast today," Clark commented cheerfully as he ran a hand along the smooth wood-post fence, his soft voice barely disturbed the crisp early-morning silence that pervaded the land. Darcie only nodded absently in agreement, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Do you think it's cloudy enough to go flying?" he asked, his last word finally catching her attention as her gaze briefly flitted between Clark and the overcast sky. Deciding that the thick gray clouds would provide cover to hide two red capes from any curious eyes, she immediately changed direction and quickened her pace back towards the farmhouse, Clark grinning as he jogged after her.


	24. The Farm - Part II

Promise: the Lois x Clark stuff is coming soon, I swear it!

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**Chapter 24: The Farm - Part II**

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It didn't take long for them to return to the house and retrieve their suits safely tucked in their bags, right where they'd left them (the two aliens had discovered early on that they could be folded into small bundles easily hidden in a backpack or duffle) before quickly changing into the Kryptonian garb and capes. Finding a suitable place to take off from without causing any major damage to the surrounding area was easy enough as the empty cornfields made perfect launchpads for amateur fliers, though they had to move quickly in case someone happened to spot the pair from the highway. Even that was not too hard, and within a few minutes Clark had managed to get himself airborne with only a short running start, Darcie trailing close behind.

He ascended quietly and swiftly, but made sure to keep his speed well below that of sound so as not to disturb anyone on the ground until he got up to a safe altitude. Clouds enveloped him almost immediately, turning the world into a haze of gray mist and light rain before his eyes adjusted to see through the vapor as if it were only clear air - not that there was much to see besides the ground and the shimmering cloud-edge where visible light and his ability to see through things seemed to create a shiny haze.

Clark chuckled softly to himself as he ascended, buffeted by the wind and licking condensation from his lips as he relished the feeling of shedding gravity like a heavy coat. There was nothing quite like flying - it was freeing and joyous and soothing and surprisingly violent at times. Wind currents could change suddenly and drastically the higher one went in the atmosphere, meaning that at one altitude Clark could be flying through a dead calm and at another, a brutal storm. It gave him a strong appreciation for meteorologists, though reading their weather predictions happened to be vastly different from experiencing them. He still struggled with remaining airborne in turbulent winds, though Darcie seemed to adapt well to the unexpected weather changes.

He could see her red cape high above him, which wasn't surprising considering that she was a faster flier, and put on a burst of speed to join her. Even from at least a few kilometers away, Clark could still make out her small smile and dark hair drenched by a raincloud, but she didn't seem to mind and was already busy braiding it back to keep the loose strands out of her face when she flew at high speeds, which was pretty often.

Both of them had achieved the speed of sound the very first day they flew, and if Clark was honest with himself, it had scared the tar out of him. As he gained speed, the pressure on his body would increase very quickly, especially at his hands stretched out in front of him until it felt like he was constantly barrelling through a brick wall. At some point, the pressure would suddenly shift, and a few seconds later… it hit him. A silent wall of sound that felt like rolling thunder and crushed his lungs in his chest, leaving him breathless but still laughing in surprise. It took some getting used to, but after a few tries, Clark found that he barely noticed the pressure and the sonic boom that followed. Darcie was a little slower to adjust - she admitted to being perfectly fine with breaking the sound barrier, loved it even, but preferred doing so above the ozone layer where the air was thin enough to reduce the sound and pressure formed.

The wind whistling past and gusting through the twin red capes, Clark followed his fellow Kryptonian higher into the atmosphere, newfound instinct teaching to adjust his speed and control with the changing winds. Within moments, he burst out of the cloud cover and into the bright golden sunlight, revealing a clear sky above that grew darker as he ascended. The land below was completely obscured by the clouds, which meant no one would be able to spot them from below, and by now the two aliens had reached a high enough altitude that even high-powered radar would struggle to detect them. They were invisible to the world... they were free.

He caught Darcie's brief smile when she grinned down at him before soaring west, her unflagging speed cracking the sound barrier with ease while Clark followed in hot pursuit. They flew high and fast, not caring where the wind took them and safe in the knowledge that they could always find their way back, over towering mountain peaks and high above distant valleys, keeping pace with the turbulent breeze. Every mile they flew, something new appeared on the horizon, capturing their attention as they viewed the world from above. Communication was possible as they could hear each other fairly well despite the distance and strong breeze thanks to their enhanced hearing - not that they spoke much besides pointing out the occasional object of interest on the Earth below, the beauty of the sky leaving them speechless.

Flight was freeing - there were no walls or people or pressure to seem 'human', only sky and wind gusting all around them. The hours rushed past like clouds as they soared farther and faster over the little blue planet before finally turning homeward with the shared promise to fly again tomorrow.

* * *

Martha watched her son through the living room as he carefully removed the ancient beam from the porch roof, nervously drumming her fingers on her hips when he struggled to balance the heavy wood over his shoulder. She needn't have worried - Darcie was there to help him carry it down to the yard where they proceeded to remove any remaining nails that had secured the beam to the roof while Dusty supervised nearby.

It was the weekend, so Martha had allowed herself to wake up a little later than usual and was not all too surprised to find neither her son nor their guest in the house. They had taken to walking the collie around the fields in the early morning and would always return just after breakfast to help her clean up, both aliens looking a little windblown and rosy-cheeked, but happy. As promised, they got straight to work on locating the dry rot in the joists over the front porch, taking them down to be replaced with planks stored in the threshing barn. The job had needed doing for ages and was by no means a small task, but while Clark was more than capable to repair the porch roof by himself, it would look suspicious if he finished it too quickly. Each time he had brought it up in the past months, she had quietly refused, the motherly protective fear of someone, anyone - a curious neighbor or a nosy reporter - finding out just how special her son was. Only now that Darcie was there to lend a helping hand, Martha felt it wouldn't look too odd if both of them finished it in less than an hour.

The two had only been working for thirty minutes and had already replaced half of the beams when Martha's curiosity got the better of her and she stepped out onto the porch to watch.

"How's it all coming along?" she asked, directing her words up to Clark and giving Dusty an affectionate pat when the dog came to greet her. Her son glanced down from where he was perched on a ladder propped up against the house wall, busy nailing a new rafter into place when he grinned.

"Nearly done, Mom - though I might have to run into town later to get more white paint so all the wood will match," he answered, "Want me to grab some groceries while I'm out?"

His mother paused, mentally recalling which kitchen cupboards were running low on food supplies when she spotted Darcie. The young woman had been standing quietly nearby, holding the other end of Clark's beam in place, but what distracted Martha was the fact that she was balancing on the thin porch railing in what should have been an impossibly precarious position with ease. Martha quickly looked away before she was caught staring at the gravity-defying feat.

"I suppose we'll need eggs," she answered Clark finally, "Also a few of the essentials - milk and bread and maybe some lettuce for salad. We're nearly out of vanilla and cinnamon, oh, and coffee, and chicken breasts and flour for dinner tomorrow. Get yourself a winter coat too, Clark - someone might get to wondering if they see you in just an old sweatshirt, and Darcie will need something as well, for that matter."

"Ma'am?" the younger woman asked, her head coming up at the mention of her name and looking mildly confused as if she had missed part of the conversation - Clark had done that a lot as a boy, his sensitive hearing often distracting him with far-off sounds.

"I was thinking we could get you some new clothes," Martha explained patiently, then quickly amended when Darcie glanced down at her outfit as if wondering what was wrong with it, "There's nothing wrong with what you have, but winter is coming on quickly and you might need something a bit warmer and comfier for the cold nights."

Clark remained silent during the short exchange and continued to quietly tighten the bolt holding the joist in place, thinking back on how often their clothes had gotten torn or burned when he and Darcie started developing their powers, so they had resorted to shopping at thrift stores to save money. She was probably wearing the best she had at the moment: well-ironed cargo pants and a loose-fitting long-sleeved tee beneath the sweatshirt he'd lent her, all exceptionally clean. His mom did have a point though - if Darcie's lack of cold-weather clothing didn't draw much attention, her overly-functional and practical fashion sense might (the problem with dressing inconspicuously in a distinct lack of bright colors or form-fitting clothes meant that most of the time she could almost pass for a boy).

"Come on, Darcie, it'll be nice," he smiled, coaxing the hesitantly confused look off her face, "I'll go with you, and maybe we can even find some matching flannel to wear together."

Martha chortled brightly at the suggestion as she went inside to grab the keys to the truck.

* * *

An hour later, Clark found himself seated on a convenient bench in the clothing section of the local Sears, balancing a paint can on his knee. The hardware store just so happened to carry a weather-proofed version of the exact shade of white he'd been looking for, perfect for painting the new joists in the front porch roof. Darcie had quietly followed him around the shop, looking around in enraptured interest (Clark was still pretty sure she could have been an engineer of some sort in a different life, given how much she knew about welding and working with different types of metals), until Martha dragged them to the department store across the street.

His mom ended up coming along with them into town - mostly because she still couldn't quite believe that her boy was home for good with no more wanderings in sight and she wanted to spend every minute she could surrounded by family, and definitely not because she wanted to help Darcie pick out her new clothes. Martha had never had a daughter - not that that had ever bothered her much and she made do by passing her excellent cooking and sparse sewing skills on to her son, but she was in no way one to pass up the chance to dress up a girl of her own. Motherly instinct overrode her urge to treat the young woman like a visiting guest, and it wasn't long before she was leading a confused Darcie into the women's clothing section at the local Sears, followed by a thoroughly amused Clark.

Shopping for the younger woman went quickly and easily, mostly because Darcie had zero preferences besides 'butch' and what she loosely defined as 'no bad stripes'. Martha caught on immediately, and after a few questions on sizes and color palettes, had selected a variety of women's jeans and flannel shirts (apparently plaid counted as 'good stripes') for her to try on. A few minutes later, they were heading for the checkout counter - Darcie politely, but firmly insisting to Martha that the younger woman was perfectly capable of paying for her own clothes before purchasing the items and the trio headed for the grocers.

After a quick trip through the supermarket, they drove back to the farm, chatting amicably in the old pickup about dinner preparations and when would be a good time for the aliens to paint the porch roof. Not long after, Clark pulled the truck up the long dirt driveway and helped his mom out so she could unlock the house while he and Darcie brought in the groceries. The atmosphere was almost festive as the two women immediately began unpacking the fresh food and pulling out ingredients for supper, Martha gushing happily about maybe having her two extraterrestrial children wear matching flannel, and Darcie simply smiling in reply.

The scene was so… satisfying. Peaceful and welcoming and deliciously homey. The warm feeling that welled up in his chest at the sight was a good one - one he hadn't felt since his dad had passed away, and even before, Clark hadn't felt it often. Here was safety, here was _family_, and for once in his life, everything seemed to be right in the world.

He opened the screen door and stepped inside to join them.


	25. The Threat

**Chapter 25: The Threat**

* * *

Picking apples by moonlight had been a favorite pastime of Martha's when she had been younger, though she'd usually done it earlier in the year - preferably near the start of fall and not in the dead of a very late winter. The weather was nice enough, if a little brisk, but the night sky was surprisingly clear. She had even managed to rope Darcie into coming with her, though not without a tiny bit of resistance when it came to wearing appropriate winter gear.

After raising an alien son with superpowers to adulthood, Martha was pretty sure she knew how to handle any more extraterrestrials that came along. But when it came to convincing Darcie to wear even a sweatshirt in forty-degree weather, she was stumped. To her credit, the younger woman did not refuse to put the sweater on - she tied it around her waist, yet politely brushed away Martha's remarks about her freezing to death or being seen with well-constructed counter-arguments, such as the fact that she didn't get cold and it was too dark for any neighbors to possibly spot them. Clark had simply grinned from his spot in front of the kitchen sink where he was busy washing the supper dishes, and suggested they get moving 'afore it got too dark out.

The two women then set out for the small orchard of apple trees behind the tractor shed, leaving Clark to the dishes and his football game. It wasn't too hard to find the stepladder and position it beneath the tree that looked like it had the ripest fruit, so Martha climbed up to begin picking while Darcie held the flashlight and extra bowl.

"So," Martha spoke up, chuckling softly at her voice disappearing in a cloud of steam, "You ever gone apple picking before, Darcie?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, there's always a first time," the older woman smiled, plucking ripe fruit from the branch and glancing down to see her companion equally occupied in watching the night sky overhead.

"Clark used to go stargazin' a lot as a boy - he was always fascinated with space," his mom mentioned fondly, "Has he shown you the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of his bedroom yet? He and Jonathan put 'em up back when he was about eleven, or near that age anyways."

"I don't think I've seen them yet, but I'll be sure to ask him later," Darcie promised.

"Ask him about his skipping-stone collection too. Him and his Pa collected quite a few, they'd often find them by the swimming hole when out fishing or stargazing over there," Martha said, setting another apple in her bowl and pausing to stare up at the dark sky, "You know, tonight would be perfect for it - the weather's clear, though it's a bit too nippy for me personally."

The younger woman didn't respond, likely because she didn't hear her, her entire attention fixed on something in the distance.

"What're you looking at?" Martha asked curiously, knowing from experience that her boy could see pretty far off, so it was only reasonable that Darcie could too.

"I'm not sure," she responded after a long moment, never taking her eyes off whatever it was. Martha followed her gaze to a blank piece of night sky above the ancient windmill, except a second glance revealed it wasn't as blank as she had first thought. There was a star there - no, not a star, something else. Something that wasn't supposed to be there.

"I'm going to get Clark," Martha whispered, struggling to keep the sudden pang of fear out of her voice. Darcie must have nodded in agreement, though the older woman barely noticed as she jogged back across the dark yard to the farmhouse. She could see her son through the screen door, stacking the last of the dishes in the drying rack, but he looked up when his keen ears heard her running footsteps just as she reached the porch.

"Clark!" she whispered loudly, knowing well enough that he'd hear her as she hastily beckoned him outside. He didn't hesitate, tossing the dish towel aside to join her on the back steps and instantly on the alert as he listened for anything that could have threatened her. There was nothing unusual - the night was quiet, if a bit chilly, and the only other non-animal heartbeat he could hear on the property was Darcie's out near the empty cornfield.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning back to Martha. She clutched the bowl of apples in her arms, glancing upwards.

"There's something in the sky."

He paused, knowing that the 'something' must have been pretty serious to shake her up this badly. Surprisingly, Darcie's heartbeat betrayed that she was relatively calm about the entire situation, but she still hadn't moved from where she was standing at the field's edge. Clark moved past his mom and across the frosted yard to join her, aware of Martha following close behind.

Darcie turned slightly as they approached, crossing her arms over her chest and acknowledging them with only a short nod. Not taking her eyes off the night sky, she pointed out a bright light streaking steadily across the upper horizon, "There."

Clark followed her gaze to the not-star and with only a thought was able to focus his vision enough to clearly inspect every detail of the object despite it being hundreds of kilometers away on the other side of the atmosphere. First glance revealed that it was a ship of some sort - long and dark and spider-like with its three legs tucked beneath it, and possessing the same naturalistic design as the Kryptonian scout ship in the Arctic. But the biggest difference between the two was not the style of starcraft, but the air of menace surrounding the new arrival, almost as if it's occupants - if any - were frowning down upon the world.

"It's a ship," he said softly for his mom's benefit, remembering that she couldn't see it nearly as well as him and Darcie.

"What's it doing here?" Martha asked in a whisper. He turned and was about to give her an optimistic guess when every light in the farmhouse behind them suddenly blinked out.

* * *

This just so happened to be the sixth major inconvenience since Lois had returned to her desk at the _Daily Plant_ offices that morning, and by the evening shift, she was in a pretty foul mood. First the metro had been late, then she'd burnt her tongue on already-burnt coffee, and after that followed a few more incidents mainly involving misplaced paperwork and a disorganized interview schedule. Sure, she was glad to be back at work - the bullpen was her natural environment and two weeks of unpaid leave had nearly sent her stir-crazy, but now she was just plain ol' mad.

Most of the time she'd spent cleaning her messy apartment, but had quickly gotten tired of that and decided to piece together some of her notes instead. Lois still had evidence from the two aliens' trail (God, it was still hard to believe they were real) scattered around her living room, and was confronted with the dilemma of whether it'd be a good idea to destroy all of it. She had promised to keep their secret - and keep it she would - yet there was still the possibility that someone could discover her notes.

The reporter in her couldn't possibly burn the story of the century to ashes with no record, so Lois eventually decided to scan all of it onto a flash drive - pictures, receipts, documents, notebooks - and hide it in a pair of socks at the bottom of her blouse drawer knowing that most officers with search warrants tended to only glance through the shirts and move straight to the undergarments. It took a couple of hours to scan everything on her old printer, then another hour to delete all of the digital evidence from her computer and shove the physical evidence through the shredder before finally burning the mess, but after the task was done she rewarded herself with a hot mug of coffee and a nap. Having nothing better to do after that, Lois spent the rest of what she considered her 'jail time' cleaning and tidying every inch of her abode, down to scrubbing the mold out of the shower. By the time Monday rolled around she was ready to kill from boredom.

Returning to her desk at the DP lifted her spirits for exactly thirty-two minutes before Perry called her to his office for a final chewing-out. Lombard wasn't doing anything to improve her post-argument mood with his incessant teasing, following her around whenever he got the chance just to make a few snide remarks about Perry's star journalist getting the shove. Lois only smiled dangerously and politely held back from giving him a piece of her mind. Of course, the one moment that she might have needed his 'expertise' with the office printer, Lombard was nowhere to be found.

The idiotic thing beeped obnoxiously at her and Lois resisted the urge to give it a solid kick, punching a button on its control panel to display the problem instead. Toner, it had to be the toner.

"Does anyone know where we keep the toner cartridges?!" she shouted irritably, tapping her heel as she waited for one of the interns to come help her out. She glanced up at the approaching footsteps of reporters and writers hurrying towards the break room with a sense of urgency, and she looked around for an explanation.

"What's going on?" she asked Jenny, spotting the intern.

"It's all over the news!" the young woman replied as she chased the group, "You gotta see this!"

Intrigued, Lois followed them down the hall to the break room where she found nearly her entire journalistic office intently watching the panel of television screens lining the far wall, all playing CNN's live newsroom. She located Perry and a few of the head journalists near the front, eyeing the story that had captured everyone's attention as she joined them. A wave of fear washed over her when she realized the shaky amateur video of a dark ship in the night sky was in fact another goddamned spaceship.

Lois heard one of her coworkers gasp as the overhead lights flickered out with a clink, a murmur of surprise running through the gathered crowd as they were suddenly left in near-darkness. Lombard shifted nervously beside her, but Perry maintained his usual grim frown and only briefly glanced up at the ceiling to glare at the dark lights. She barely made a sound, holding her breath in anticipation as the newscast was suddenly replaced by fizzy static. Lois knew something was wrong, and maybe it was just the stress of discovering that _aliens_ were real, but she felt with a heavy conviction that the blackout might be linked to her.

Someone was already in the janitor closet fiddling with the electrical box as a few people tried various light switches, but nothing changed except the pitch of the static gradually growing to a keening screech.

* * *

The old television was the only thing in the dark farmhouse that was still on, a wavering high-pitched squeal emanating from the box and it's screen flickering with static. Clark felt a small wave of panic wash over him at the sound - a normal blackout wouldn't leave the TV on, and even the Lang's farm down the road was in the dark.

He felt his mom's hand slip into the crook of his arm as Clark mounted the steps of the back porch and slowly opened the screen door, his focus still on the droning television. Darcie followed close behind them - he caught a glimpse of starlight glinting off the steel of her hunting knife and almost smiled at the thought that any robber in the house wouldn't stand a chance, but he got the sense the blackout hadn't been caused by a trespasser. Something was very wrong, and Clark hazarded a guess that the ship had something to do with it.

The farmhouse was eerily silent except for the keening television - likely the only working light source on the entire property, it's bright glow casting shadows in the living room. The incessant buzzing was still jumping in pitch, sounding a lot like a bad radio that someone was trying to tune to the right station... until they found it. The noise stopped, static still filling the silent screen. Then the words appeared.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

* * *

The blackout had spread quickly, leaving Europe's west coast in darkness mere milliseconds before the Far East. Every lightbulb and screen was affected by the mysterious occurrence, the shrill static catching everyone's attention before it was followed by the words.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

It was plastered on everything that had a screen, flashing black static words as a deep voice repeated the phrase in a low, menacing tone.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

Far off in the remote Nepali peaks, a group of herdsmen gathered around one's small phone as the message was proclaimed in their traditional language.

तिमी एक्लो छैनौं

In Tokyo, morning traffic had slowed to a standstill as drivers peered out their windshields and pedestrians stood in the Shibuya Crossing, staring up at the broad screens all playing the same four words.

あなた一人じゃありません

Sudanese woke from sleep and crowded into rickety huts, all hunched around a small second-hand television powered by an old generator doing its best to drown out the words as they listened with rapt attention.

ANJEUN HENTEU NYALIRA

It wasn't necessary for a message to be sent to any government alerting them of the occurrence, as every official of any standing was already watching it take place with their own eyes. This was something never seen or heard of before, so widespread they would later claim you either had to be dead or never heard of a smartphone to have missed it. Those words changed everything.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

The Daily Planet staff watched in a mixture of awe and fear, some hurriedly scribbling down notes on paper while a few continued to work at the switch box.

"It's coming in on the RSS feeds," Jenny pointed out, indicating every computer in the bullpen flashing the same message as the television screens.

"It's on my phone too!" someone else exclaimed and Lois' eyes widened in horror as she slipped hers out of her pocket to discover no different. The words were everywhere. Someone - or some_thing_ \- was trying to get Earth's attention. She just wished they had thought of a less creepy way to do it.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

Clark stepped warily closer to the old television set in the living room, his keen hearing picking up other words in the background and he recognized a few to be in Spanish and French. Darcie heard it too, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side as she listened.

"It's in all the main languages," she whispered, "They must be broadcasting worldwide."

He nodded in agreement and moved to attempt to change the channel on the box to see if that would do anything, but before he had crossed the room the television let out another shrill squeal. Both aliens flinched at the sound, uncomfortably loud with their sensitive hearing, when the screen flashed static and the message changed.

MY NAME IS GENERAL ZOD, the voice declared, enunciating each word slowly in a tone that demanded respect.

I CAME FROM KRYPTON, A WORLD FAR FROM YOURS. WE HAVE JOURNEYED ACROSS AN OCEAN OF STARS TO REACH YOU.

Clark turned to glance at Darcie beside him, both recognizing the name as realization washed over them. They were not the only survivors.

FOR SOME TIME YOUR WORLD HAS SHELTERED ONE OF OUR CITIZENS. I REQUEST THAT THIS INDIVIDUAL BE RETURNED TO OUR CUSTODY, the voice continued, FOR REASONS UNKNOWN HE HAS CHOSEN TO KEEP HIS EXISTENCE A SECRET FROM YOU.

Lois took in a shuddering breath at the message, desperately trying to ignore the look Perry was shooting her. She found herself backing away from the broadcast wall and weaving her way to the back of the small crowd to escape the flickering screens, but it did nothing to drown out the voice.

HE WILL HAVE MADE EFFORTS TO BLEND IN. HE WILL LOOK LIKE YOU, BUT HE IS NOT ONE OF YOU.

Martha shifted nervously behind her son, still hugging the bowl of apples to her chest as Clark glanced back to give her a small reassuring smile, but she knew him well enough to see the fear in his eyes - he was just as scared as she was. And he had every right to be.

TO THOSE OF YOU WHO MAY KNOW OF HIS CURRENT LOCATION, Zod announced darkly, THE FATE OF YOUR PLANET RESTS IN YOUR HANDS.

The threat rang in Lois' ears, and though she hated to admit it, she was scared almost beyond words - which was pretty big for someone whose whole life revolved around writing. Zod was looking for Clark, she'd bet her career on it - but why Darcie wasn't mentioned, Lois had no idea.

Looking out the break room's wide windows, she could see the flashing light of screens in the surrounding buildings and street below. Every last one was playing Zod's demand, and above the skyscrapers, one could just make out a bright speck orbiting the moon that must be the alien ship. Lois closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at it or her dark city, but a bigger problem than the blackout kept tugging at her thoughts. The simple fact that Lois had a pretty good idea of where Clark would be.

* * *

Clark stared at the screen, unable to tear his gaze away even though it only displayed static now, but the voice's message held him transfixed.

TO KAL-EL, I SAY THIS: Zod declared ultimately, SURRENDER WITHIN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS OR WATCH THIS WORLD SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.

The screen darkened and the ancient television let out a last high-pitched screech before turning off, leaving them in semi-darkness lit only by the stars outside. For a long moment, no one moved, frozen with fear and apprehension. The tension was abruptly cut when the kitchen light sparked violently as the electricity turned back on, causing Martha to let out a yelp of surprise and drop the bowl of apples.

Clark wordlessly pulled her into a hug, doing his best to comfort her and remain calm himself, but he couldn't help but glance warily at the screen, part of him expecting Zod to speak up again. No menacing voice came, though that didn't seem to satisfy Darcie. She had moved to stare out the window at the dark ship, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides and the veins around her eyes darker than normal.

She sensed his gaze on her and glanced back, searching for his reaction to Zod's threat, but Clark turned his face away. Despite how well he hid it, he knew she would see just how scared he really was.


	26. The Loose End

Chapter Notes: it's a bit of a shorter one. That's all.

* * *

**Chapter 26: The Loose End**

* * *

His mom had insisted on staying up with him to help decipher General Zod's cryptic message, but Clark managed to gently persuade her that she would help him more by getting some sleep. It was almost one in the morning when Martha finally relented, but Clark couldn't force himself to sleep either and instead found himself distractedly wandering through the old farmhouse with no idea what he was going to do about the black threat hanging over his home.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he turned the light off in the living room and spotted Darcie through the screen door. She had stepped out for some air some time ago - he couldn't quite remember when, but now she was sitting on the porch steps looking up at the ship orbiting the moon. Clark hesitated a few long moments before making up his mind to join her.

She must have sensed him approaching because she visibly tensed before he had reached the back door, but relaxed some when she recognized his heartbeat. Darcie turned slightly to stare questioningly up at him and once again he found himself avoiding her gaze as he sat down on the edge of the porch.

Neither spoke, enjoying the silence of the crisp air, broken only by the occasional hum from the ancient refrigerator inside. No cars, no street lamps, no cries for help - only the stars, the cold, and the quiet hush of empty land before the onset of winter.

"I wasn't mentioned," she pointed out in a low voice, as if afraid to break the silence with her simmering rage, "So either he refrained from saying my name for some twisted reason, or the damn bastard has no idea I'm here."

For once Clark didn't reprimand her language, but paused to go over Zod's message in his head and he realized she was right - no mention had been made of another Kryptonian living on Earth besides Kal-El.

"Well, at least he won't be looking for you," he reminded her gently, and she shook her head.

"That's not good enough. I can't let him find you, or I'd-

Darcie stopped herself, glaring down at the frosted grass at the foot of the steps. It seemed so long ago that he had brought her to the farm and introduced his mom to this young woman who was possibly his only living relative in the entire universe. Now, less than a week later, the two of them along with nearly everyone on Earth had suddenly discovered that they were not the last ones of their race. But with the joyous discovery came the threat, one that could not be ignored and heavily implied that the reunion might not be a happy one.

"The UN's probably losing their shit right now," Darcie muttered, turning her glare back up at the sky. He ignored the swearing, only nodded resignedly, and followed her gaze to the alien warship.

"Yeah, I ain't too happy about it either," he admitted.

"Clark?"

"Hmm?"

"Forgive me if I start thinking out loud here, but this is the first official internationally-recognized alien sighting," she said slowly, "Zod was broadcasting in multiple frequencies and languages. No government can deny that this is happening. Everyone knows we exist now, or that at least you exist."

Clark frowned at the idea, but he had to admit that everything she was saying was the truth. Darcie continued, "The next thing the world will do is try to find out where you are. The best place to start is the most recently claimed alien sighting, an incident that might have triggered or explain Zod's arrival. And the most recently claimed alien sighting is the scout ship at Ellesmere two weeks ago."

She shot up suddenly, glaring daggers at the dark speck beside the moon as she paced the grass in front of him, explaining quickly as she did, "A reporter was at the Ellesmere Incident and had an encounter with two aliens on an extraterrestrial ship. She wrote about them, hoping to learn their story. Her article was published by a news blogger named Woodburn, and we found it, learning two things: first, that she was clearly smitten with you, and second, she was searching for us.

"We confronted her and walked away, thinking the problem to be resolved, but it's only grown. Other people are going to read Lane's article about her encounter, and it's not hard to connect the dots. Lane has seen aliens recently. Lane has talked with them. Lane is looking for them. And if you were to dig a bit deeper, you would discover that Lane has not published or been at work these past few weeks-"

"Wait, wait, how do you know all this?" Clark cut in, "And what do you mean by 'smitten' with me?"

Darcie stopped pacing long enough to raise an eyebrow in his direction. "You didn't actually read the article, did you?"

"I glanced over it," he admitted sheepishly, and she nodded as if she had expected such an answer.

"She opened the piece by describing you as the perfect man, Clark. As to how I learned all this: I forged our false identities and employment histories in two days so we could work for Arctic Cargo. Doing a bit of research is not nearly as complicated."

He nodded distractedly in response, smiling faintly as he remembered Lois' fearless smile. Clark found that he wasn't put off by the idea of the reporter having a crush on him, and if he was honest with himself, he could not help but like her back. Her flashing eyes swirling blue, grey, and green, and her bouncing locks of strawberry-blonde hair perfectly complemented her stubborn yet kind personality that was the highlight of his daydreams. His current one was quickly interrupted by the light thump of Darcie's boots on the grass as she got back to pacing.

"Continuing, Lane's article and absence raise the question of where she has been during her leave. If someone were to look into it, they would find that she has been in Canada and the US. Where has Lane been during those weeks? More research would likely reveal that she's been in the Canadian Northern Territories and Prairie Provinces, and the Midwest United States. What was Lane doing there? She likely would have been moving too fast to be visiting family, so she was either road-tripping or following someone. Who could Lane be following? The obvious assumption would be her mystery aliens. She confirmed this by returning to work, dropping the story, and as far as I can tell, said nothing about it. You don't just run across the whole of two countries for a piece and then suddenly decide it's not worth writing even a short article about. The world knows that. So what are they going to do? The US government will be the quickest to act - they'll arrest and interrogate her about us. Lane is a loose end we cannot afford to ignore."

Clark's eyes widened at the realization and he jumped to his feet with the intention of running inside to grab his Suit, "I'll find her. I'll get her out of there, she can hide here until it's over-"

"And if you're seen together? She will either be on a watch list for the rest of her life or be used against you," Darcie pointed out, summing up the problem quite well.

He froze in his tracks, hand on the door as he considered her words. She was right, Lois was probably on some pretty important radars already - being seen with her would only confirm their relationship and make the situation worse. Clark knew that he needed to protect her, not just because of the reporter's dangerous knowledge, but something else drove him to keep her safe. Maybe it was just a guilty obligation after the whole incident on the Kryptonian scout ship, yet he couldn't deny the way his heart pounded in his chest when she looked at him and the way her smile drove away all dark thoughts from his mind. He wanted to protect her because Miss Lane saw him not just as an alien, but as a person, and he relished that. Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"I could go," Darcie spoke up, interrupting his thoughts as she looked up at the ship in the night sky with heavy conviction before glancing back over her shoulder towards him, "I'm not sure how I could get her all the way out here without being seen, but I might be able to hide her in the city…"

She knew. Of course, Darcie knew - she could read him like an open book, but she still supported him. They both understood that at least one of them would need to ensure Lois' safety and despite how much he desperately wished it could be him that swooped in to save her, deep down Clark knew that it would have to be her. Neither Zod nor any government knew about Darcie and subsequently wouldn't expect to see her with Lane, ensuring them both a small chance of vanishing before they were caught. He trusted both of them - they would survive.

"Promise me you'll come back safe?" Clark sighed, stepping towards her, "I don't want this Zod finding Lois, or you. I… I only just got to know you."

Darcie allowed him a shy affectionate smile, quickly looking away to focus her attention on unbuttoning her flannel shirt to reveal the Kryptonian suit beneath. He could tell she had been practicing as it took her only a few seconds to change fully and roll her clothes into a neat bundle for flying.

"Don't worry, Boy Scout," she assured him, attaching her red cape at the shoulders, "I'll be back before you know it."

He smiled, knowing very well that Darcie was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but couldn't help but reach out to give her hand one last affectionate squeeze. She hesitated a moment before gently squeezing back and slipping out of his grasp, silently taking to the air as Clark watched. The black alien warship hovered in the corner of his vision and he closed his eyes to block it out, concentrating instead on the low boom confirming that Darcie had gained enough altitude to safely break the sound barrier as she soared east. He found himself trembling a little at the sound resonating in his ears like some eerie death knell, and took a deep breath to steady himself.

Only eighteen hours left.


End file.
